My Brother's Keeper
by Sifl-senpai
Summary: REVAMPED: Eric Cartman is actually Kyle Broflovski's brother! Wait, is "Cartman" even his name anymore? Written before Scott Tenorman's return came out. T for language only. COMPLETE.
1. Don't make an ass of me

**_EDIT:__ This is a more heavily edited and (hopefully) improved version of this story- I am known to periodically do this to my old stuff to make it more palatable. For those of you who are new, this was written before Scott Tenorman's revenge in the Chili Con Carnival. For those of you who have read this before, I hope you see improvement- and I'll be adding a little short extra scene soon as a treat for dealing with these updated chapters spamming your email boxes. Thanks for reading!_**

* * *

_Prologue: Don't Make An Ass of Me_

Mephisto printed out the results to the most recent DNA test he'd done and walked over to the printer, ignoring the screaming child behind him. Nonchalantly, he picked up the sheet of paper and scanned the lists of letters and numbers, giving the occasional stoic nod to fool his guest into thinking he was actually giving a damn about what he had to say.

However, he couldn't blame the boy for his tantrum; after all, DNA was one of Mephisto's life's passions as well. The fresh ink on the paper tickled his olfactory sensors and he held it up closer to his nose to take a big whiff. The secrets it revealed were amazing, spectacular, wonderful, pulchritudinous, sensuous, bodacious, buxom, buttcheeks…

"Read the damn results! Stop fantasizing about your many-assed animals!" To speed up the process, the angry nine-year-old flung a nearby hamster by one of its five posteriors into the donkey with the same unusual mutation. "Do it!" he hollered.

Nodding placidly once more, Mephisto took another look at the sheet in his hands. Yes, the data was listed here. He looked at the boy and answered him gravely.

"In my hands, I hold the answer you seek."

"I know that!"

"She resides here in South Park."

"Well, duh, assmaster! All the samples I collected were from here!"

"It is a ninety-nine point nine percent match."

"Come on! Just read the damned results!"

Mephisto, fed up with his client's interruptions, handed the paper to his midget assistant and turned his full attention to his guest. "Child, your ass may be as big as all my beautiful creations' put together…"

The child gave a belligerent screech. "Aw, you're gonna stop to lecture me about these freaks being fivesome butt buddies?"

"…but that doesn't mean that you have the right to ruin my anticipation building. Be patient," Mephisto finished.

The boy turned livid.

"Dammit, Mephisto, I've waited three whole days for these results, and my whole entire life for these answers! Don't be telling me about building up the anticipation!" He jumped Kevin and tore the paper from his midget hands.

"You should really pick on someone your own size," Mephisto commented, but the aggressive child was too busy absorbing the facts on the paper to make a wise-ass crack about the scientist.

Here in his hands was the answer- so many mysteries and secrets would be stripped butt-naked by this knowledge! His eyes flew over the paper in search of the one sentence that could make his little world bear all.

Instead of revealing the secrets of the unknown, the information the boy absorbed turned the tables and left _him_ exposed and vulnerable.

"No way." he swallowed hard. "No way. This can't be." Mephisto watched his young client's face fall in disbelief.

"Mephisto, is this a joke? This is some kind of sick-ass joke, right?"

The mad scientist shook his head.

Eric began to tearfully beg. "No! No! This isn't true! Do the test again! It can't be right!"

"I'm sorry. I have no doubt in my mind that this is correct. Everything matches up." Mephisto gave Eric a long, hard stare. "Besides, you don't have the money for another test," he reasoned.

"No! No! I can't deal with this! I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS!" Despite his protests, Eric knew that there was no denying the words on the page. With dread, he chanced another glance at the paper lying innocently on the floor.

The words on it had not changed- they still bore the inconvenient truth- the _other _one, the one Al Gore failed to share with the world.

The DNA test revealed that the biological mother of Eric Theodore Cartman was none other than Sheila Broflovski.


	2. Having a Party

**_EDIT:__ As I have said, these are revamped. However, please don't hesitate to tell me anything else I might have missed! Thank you for reading and reviewing- and remember, I don't own South Park! That goes for all my fictions of it._**

* * *

_Part One: Having a Party_

As he made his way over the snowy hills, Eric spotted them. They were standing in a line as they always did every morning: Stan- the average, wussy, and sensible pussy, Kenny- the poor, lewd, and friend to the crude, and-

That one. _It_.

Eric approached them slowly, for once in his life unsure of what to do.

"Hey, Cartman," Stan said, not taking his eyes off the horizon.

Eric didn't answer back.

"Yeah, hey, fatass," _it_ added.

There was still no answer.

"I said hey, fatass," _it_ tried again.

Eric just kept his eyes glued to his shoes.

"What? Is there no insult today? No degradation? No 'shaddup Jew, your mom sucks' comment?" While that was usually exactly what Eric would have said, it didn't sound so alluring with the heavy weight of the knowledge in his hands- that would technically be like saying Eric's own mother sucked.

The boys at the bus stop had no idea what was going on in their roly-poly red friend's head, and they tried several different gimmicks and insults to try to get Eric's attention.

No matter what they did, he couldn't bring himself to respond.

Finally, in a stroke of genius, Kenny tried something the others hadn't thought of- as Stan was giving the despondent Eric an atomic wedgie, Kenny simply tore the paper Eric was holding from his frigid hands. The frozen boy sprung to life instantly.

"Give that back! Now, Kenny!"

In reply, Kenny made a series of ridiculously muffled noises. (To anyone but the other boys who had known him all his life, they would have been impossible to understand, but here, their meaning was clear.)

Eric responded accordingly. "It's none of your business what it is! Give it back!"

"Oh, does the fatass think he can keep one of his schemes a secret from us? What're you trying to do this time? Sell Chinese babies? Or just try to pull off widespread genocide?" _It _came forward and went for the paper in Kenny's gloved hands.

"No! Don't touch it! Don't! It's mine!" As Eric struggled to move forward, Stan held fast to the underwear in his hands and anchored the larger boy down.

"Well too bad, Cartman! I'm not having my whole Mothers' Day weekend ruined because you did something that gets me grounded or the town destroyed again!" With a nasty look in Eric's direction, _it_ reached for the paper.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! _NO_!" _It_ couldn't see that sheet of enlightenment!

With a shriek, Eric found the strength to dive-bomb the unsuspecting Kenny. He noisily tore the tender information from his peer's hands (although it was no noisier than the sound of Eric's underwear ripping) and used his momentum to continue to run across the street.

The other boys watched Eric Cartman's pale, bare butt gleam at them as he made his way across the empty road and towards the neighborhood. It reflected the sun like the snow around him, and if it weren't for his blood red jacket, Eric would have been perfectly camouflaged.

"Dude," Stan muttered, elastic waistband still in his hands. "What got in his Wheaties?"

"I dunno," Kyle Broflovski stated, "but it seems suspicious to me. I mean, Cartman never shows up without an insult or the intention to be an asshole."

The three boys continued to watch the hefty boy's rear disappear into the front door of his house.

"Do you think we should go after him?" Stan asked.

Kyle looked like he wanted to, but then thought the better of it. "Nah. If my mom finds out I was skipping school, she'd disown me."

Kenny muffled out something.

"Yeah," giggled out Stan, "a fate worse than death."

* * *

Eric wasn't sure why he had decided to come to his house. On one hand, it was the closest place he considered safe, but on the other, it meant he'd have to face his mother and didn't want to do that so soon.

No. Liane was his father- he didn't want to face his father so soon.

Liane Cartman acted as a woman and a matriarchal figure, but the truth was that she was actually an intersexual and had really been the biological father of Eric. In a classic motherly fashion that would fool even another intersexual, she rushed to the door the moment she heard it open.

"Oh, Eric! Thank goodness you're home! I was beginning to think that you had run away when you didn't come downstairs for breakfast. I'll call the police back and tell them that I found you."

Desperately, Eric tried to compose himself.

"Oh, my poor Poopsiekins! You've ripped your underwear, poor dear. Hurry upstairs and change so you won't be late for school." Liane gave him a gentle push and began to get worried when her son wouldn't move. Eric was just staring at her with a glazed look.

"Eric, is something wrong?"

"Mom, who was my biological mother?" Oops, it slipped out.

Liane was caught off guard. "It was… she was… we were in Canada and, um," Liane kneeled down to Eric's level. "I'll tell you when you are older. I don't want it to be too much for you. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Do you even remember who it was?" He really looked uncharacteristically pathetic with his haggard, half-dressed stance.

"Well, of course I do, dear," Liane lied. She could remember the general plans and agreement that had happened after the woman had gotten pregnant, but she couldn't remember names or anything else.

"Was it Mrs. Broflovski?"

What?

_What?_

"_WHAT_?" Liane blurted.

Eric inhaled deeply and began his whiny tale. Liane didn't even have time to prepare herself. "Last niiiiiight, I snuck outta bed and went to Mister Mephisto's, and had him do a maternity test with the samples I collected from all the women in towwwwn, and Mr. Broflovski in case he wasn't like _iiiiiiiiit _and had gotten more than sand in his vagiiiiiina, and paid for it with the money I took from the offering plaaaaaate and Salvation Army these last Sundaaaaays, and then it said that my real mother was Sheila Broflovskeeh-ehh-ehh!" At this point, Eric's commonplace whining turned into full-blown tears. "Waaaaah! I don' wanna be that Jew bitch's spah-hah-hawn! Waaaaah! "

Liane hadn't even listened to her son's confession, instead choosing to gain information by taking and reading the paper he had carried in with him.

She read it once, twice, three times.

It couldn't have been Sheila! Liane would have remembered something like that, wouldn't she? Hell, _Sheila_ would have remembered something like that! Of course, Liane _had _been posing as a man and using an alias, but Sheila hadn't done the same to cheat on her husband, had she?

They hadn't both been _THAT_ drunk, had they?

"Eric, go to your room."

"But-"

"Just do it!" Liane never raised her voice to Eric, and when she did it now, it scared him.

For once, Eric did as he was told and stayed in his room with Clyde Frog while Liane called the Broflovskis.

* * *

The whole of South Park Elementary found their day extremely pleasant thanks to the absence of Eric Cartman. Token and Kyle were free to play flag football without any slurs, Wendy and Bebe didn't have to listen to any sexist comments, Pip wasn't picked on, and even Craig was a lot better behaved. Tweek had calmed down enough to give his coffee to the Goth kids, who had actually come to class. And as he munched on his ketchup-less ketchup sandwich, Kenny noticed that even Mr. Garrison was in such a good mood that some of his feminine sway had returned today. He pointed this out to Stan.

"Eww, Kenny, he's our teacher," his friend said between chuckles.

Kenny rolled his eyes. He hadn't meant it THAT way (at least, not this time), and realized with some chagrin that he had been expecting Cartman to be there to overhear and shout out some rude comment.

Oh, well.

"Sheila, I'm absolutely positive about this. I made Mephisto hexadeca- and nonadeca- check this."

"What _what_ _WHAT_?" Sheila Broflovski said for the thirtieth time, still staring down at the sheet of paper in her hands.

"I didn't think it was you, either, believe me."

"How could this be? I never did any partying while we were in Canada, except for that one night when Gerald and I had a few with friends at our last night being in any kind of city." Sheila stopped. "I don't exactly remember everything that happened that night." Liane raised her eyebrows.

"But how can that be?" Sheila continued. I know you were Eric's father, but I also know you gave birth to _someone_ around the time my son Kyle was born." She paused again. "I have never fully understood how that all worked."

"Neither did I," mumbled Liane. "I mean, uh, the mother- _you_- said you were really close with a lawyer,"

"My husband Gerald," interjected Sheila.

"And legally transported the zygote and put it inside me because I wanted the child."

"I don't remember Gerald and I handling anything like transporting something like _that_," Sheila pondered.

"Like what?" asked a voice from the basement.

"Oh! Gerald! Don't barge in like that!"

"How so, Sheila? This is my house, too!"

They bickered for a while, Sheila's ingratiating accent coming out more and more with each word. Liane leaned back in her chair, trying not to notice how much nicer the Broflovski's couch was than her own. She could never figure out how to get the Cheesy Poof stains out of hers. Eventually, Liane tuned back in to the conversation.

"The only transplanting of anything that I dealt with was that test tube baby experiment that you and I did so that I could learn how that custody system worked for that one case I was finishing up just before Kyle was born."

"Oh, when we were unsure of what stance to take on that whole issue?"

"Yes, Sheila. That time."

"What happened to that whole thing, anyway?"

"Everything cleared up and I sent it to the woman that called and said she wanted a child. She said that she wanted to take care of it and felt that it was her responsibility to," Gerald finished, shrugging.

By this time, Liane had perked up and began to listen to the conversation again.

"Where was this woman living?"

"Well, I guess in Denver, 'cause that's where I sent it."

Liane swallowed hard. "What was her name?"

"Dick Teese. I remember that because it was a really masculine name for a woman."

"Why, Liane?" asked Sheila.

"That… that was my male alias."

Sheila was speechless for a moment. "Well, if it was our test tube baby, then that explains why the test said I'm Eric's mother," she finally managed out.

"But, no, Mephisto also took that _paternity_ test on Eric last year._ I_ was proven his father, not your husband. You were there, Gerald."

Gerald Broflovski, eyes bugged out, let out a breath neither other woman realized he had been holding. "Oh, thank Jehovah Eric Cartman isn't my son!" he shouted. Laughing nervously, he glanced from the stunned face of his wife to the glaring face of Liane. "I mean, um, oh, that's odd." An awkward silence reigned supreme over the threesome.

Finally, the seriousness of the implications hit Gerald. "Wait a minute. You're the father," he pointed at Liane, "but _you're_ the mother?" He slowly moved his prosecuting finger to his wife. They stared back at him stoically.

"What if Mephisto made a mistake?" he asked, sweating. "I mean, his head is usually in one of many asses."

After a quick glance at each other, Sheila shamefully handed Gerald the enlightening paper as Liane explained the situation.

Gerald slowly nodded as he processed the information being given to him. When they had finished, he simply stood up and walked out of the room.

"Gerald?" Sheila whimpered.

Her husband said nothing as he left.

"Is he alright?" Liane asked.

They heard several muffled screams and violent noises coming from the bathroom before Gerald finally reentered the room.

"Kyle was born prematurely," he said, sitting down as if nothing had happened, "on May the twenty-sixth at ten minutes until five. He stayed in the hospital for exactly forty days." Apparently, Gerald Broflovski's lawyer mind had been onto something as he had been having his breakdown. "When was Eric born and when did he leave the hospital?"

"Well, let's see," Liane began, not quite sure where this was going, "Eric was born on July the first and we left about, oh, three days later?"

"Exactly forty days after Kyle was born."

Liane nodded complacently.

"Why, yes, I think you're right. The doctors at Hell's Pass hospital were reluctant to let me take him home because he was so fragile and small, but they decided to after I… persuaded them." She still did not quite comprehend what the point was.

Sheila, however, had figured out her husband's conclusion.

"No, Gerald! How could they have been so careless about labeling the correct babies? They're a _hospital_, for goodness' sake!"

"Yes, but they're _Hell's Pass _Hospital, Sheila. How else do you explain them continually giving people AIDS from blood transfusions? How else do you explain those redneck McCormicks always winning their lawsuits against them without a lawyer or anything? The doctors are careless morons!"

"Wait a minute, interrupted Liane, "You aren't actually saying that Eric- my baby- is actually _Kyle Broflovski?_

* * *

Eric Cartman had snuck out of his house after his mother had left and had crept into the Broflovski residence via their son's- _its-_ second-story window (a practice that he did entirely too often, as it was almost second nature to him) and crept to the top of the stairs so that he could find out for himself what was happening. Gripping Clyde Frog tightly, he held his breath and tried to be as silent as possible while he eavesdropped.

"You aren't actually saying that Eric- my baby- is actually _Kyle Broflovski_?"

The words hit Eric like a stone and he let out a tiny gasp.

"What was that?" Sheila whipped around, scared that somebody else had heard their conversation. She looked to the top of the stairs. "Eric!" she shouted in surprise.

The jig was up and Eric was overwhelmed beyond belief.

"You can't be my mom!" He screamed and ran down the stairs to beat Sheila with Clyde Frog as hard as he could, ignoring the stuffing coming out of his beloved toy's badly damaged head. "I am not that Daywalker-Jew _thing_! I'm not! I'm NOT!"

"Eric!" yelled Liane, trying to pull the flailing boy off of his mother.

"Gerald!" Sheila cried.

"Liane!" he blurted.

"ERIC!" Liane yelled louder.

The poor boy just kept throwing his tantrum.

"GERALD!" Sheila was getting frantic.

"LIANE!" Gerald followed suit.

"ERIC!"

"GERALD!"

"LIANE!"

"ERIC!"

"GERALD!"

"LIANE!"

"ERIC!"

"GERALD!"

"LIANE!"

"RANDY!"

The four frantic people turned to the newcomer in the doorway. Randy Marsh, Stan Marsh's father, stood grinning, with his fists triumphantly raised in the air. After a few minutes of no reaction, Randy realized his inappropriate folly and sheepishly dropped them.

"I heard you shouting names and thought it was a game, and I wanted to join." He rubbed the back of his neck.

Liane pulled her son off of Sheila as the redheaded woman fumed. "So you barged into the house without knocking?"

"I guess it wasn't a game, then," Randy said dejectedly.

"A game?" The McCormicks popped into the doorway. "Izzit a drinkin' game?"

"Get OUT! This is none of your business!" Sheila shrieked, pointing to the front door Randy had just opened. But of course, this was the podunk town of South Park and nobody knew the meaning of privacy, so instead of exiting through the doorway, more people just invited themselves right in.

Randy's brother Jimbo and his friend Ned shoved by the drunken McCormicks and leapt into the room. "What's attackin'?" Izzit comin' right for you?" They had their guns poised and at the ready, moving the barrel from person to person and paused only when they spotted Jimbo's kin. "Oh, hey, Randy!"

Mr. Mackey, the school counselor, poked his head in the door as well. "I heard screamin' and wanted to know if everything was alright, m'kay."

"Aren't you supposed to be working now?" asked Gerald.

As if on cue, little Butters Stotch walked in. "Hey, everybody! I wanted to see what all the fuss was about." He noticed all the people gathered in the Broflovski living room. "Oh, hamburgers! Are you guys havin' a party?"

Sheila threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Does anyone else want to barge in on us?"

The people in the room began to shout and rabble as Sheila and Liane tried to shoo them away.

In the center of the chaos, Eric had long since stopped screaming and was now staring at the doorway in a dumb stupor. A newcomer had arrived at this impromptu party.

_It_ was here.

_Kyle Broflovski had come home from school._


	3. Kyle, Called Eric, Eric, Called Kyle

_Part Two: Kyle, Called Eric/Eric, Called Kyle_

Sheila finally managed to shoo the last of the unwanted guests out the doorway.

"Can you believe these mountain people?" she hollered. "I swear, you'd think they were all born in a lab for-" turning, she spotted Kyle. "Eaaaugh!" she screamed.

"Kyle! What're you doing here?" Gerald panicked.

"School's out and I live here, dad." Just then, Kyle spotted Liane. "Hello, Ms. Cartman," he gave a polite little wave, "and Cartman." He spat the greeting out with a nasty glare at the latter. "What're you doing here?"

The three parents shared a knowing look.

"Kyle, honey, we're discussing something very important right now. Why don't you and Eric go and play in your room for a little while?" Sheila suggested.

"But mom, I'm going over to Stan's."

"Kyle," Gerald warned, following his wife's lead.

"I don't wanna hang out with Cartman!"

"Kyle, _NOW_!" Once his mother had lost her temper, Kyle showed his tail.

"Yes, ma'am." Kyle raced up the stairs and to his room in fear, Eric's eyes following him every step of the way. Under any other circumstance, he would have made a jibe at how whipped Kyle was.

"You, too, Eric," Liane coaxed.

Mechanically, his body followed his newly-revealed half-brother up the stairs.

When they finally heard the door close, Liane turned back to the Broflovskis.

"What are we going to about this?"

Gerald proceeded to put his head in his hands and cry.

* * *

Kyle stormed into his room and slammed the door behind Cartman's lumbering form.

"Okay, what did you do now?" he fumed, demeanor changed completely from the scene in the living room. Under any other circumstance, Cartman would have instigated that _it _was having _its_ period, but today he only stared back blankly.

In a huff, Kyle ignored the stupefied chunky boy and ran over to close his open bedroom window. "You snuck in through my room! You better not have taken anything!"

Cartman still didn't say anything. The silence was beginning to make Kyle uncomfortable.

"Alright, Cartman, I'm getting sick of this silent treatment. I don't want you to be here, you don't want you to be here, and I don't want me to be here. Tell me what you've screwed up this time so we can get grounded and leave."

Kyle received no answer.

"Look, fatass, this is a waste of time!" Stop being a pussy and spill it!" he retaliated against Cartman's muteness. When he still made no progress, he began to shout in frustration.

"Cartman! Stop being an asshole!" The stoic one watched passively as _it_ wrenched Clyde Frog from his hands. "If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll tear your stupid stuffed frog's head off again!" _it_ tugged on the thread that reattached Clyde Frog's head after its first beheading not too long ago. Kyle couldn't help but notice that the string used was red. Sick.

When Cartman _still_ didn't react, even to the threat directed at his favorite stuffed animal, Kyle began to get scared. In his panic, he began throwing all the insults he could think of at the hefty boy.

"Fatass! Redneck! Racist! Sexist bastard!" Cartman gave a tiny twitch at the last one Kyle had hurled. Kyle closed in on the weakness, raising himself to his full height and slowly creeping closer to Cartman's face.

"Yeah, you female suppressor! You're mother isn't even really your mother!" Kyle had never really been sure how that worked, but he ran with it anyway. "You're just a bastard whose parent is so screwed up that she probably self-fertilized! You're gonna be a gigantic slut just like-!" Finally, Cartman snapped back into reality and did the first thing that came to mind.

"Eaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!" he screamed, sounding suspiciously like Sheila Broflovski. He threw himself at _it_ in a blinding fit of fury and knocked them both to the floor.

Cartman began pummeling _it_ with anything he could find- Clyde Frog, pillows, old Chinpokomon dolls, _it_s hat, _it_s own arm, Ike- it was all the same to Cartman. _It_ had been asking for it, he was sure, although he wasn't entirely sure why.

Beneath him, Kyle flailed in complete surprise and tried for an escape. He knew that he and Cartman were mortal enemies- the Neo-Nazi and the near-ginger Jew- but whenever a squabble started, Cartman was the one to throw the first _insult_, not the first punch; that was Kyle's role. Whatever had transpired earlier must have been very bad for Cartman to act this way.

In the midst of battle, Kyle caught his adopted brother Ike as Cartman flung him by the leg.

"Cartman! Whatever the hell is wrong, don't take it out on my baby brother!" he yanked Ike out of his aggressor's angry grasp.

The giggling Canadian baby bounced out of danger's range and toddled out of the room.

"You awe ass-holes," he managed out, curiosity as to what was going on in his big brother's room satisfied.

Meanwhile, Kyle had restrained Cartman's hands and had turned the tables on him, rolling them both over so that Kyle was on top. He held him down as best he could (which was very difficult since Cartman was about twice Kyle's mass) and tried to keep his face out of Cartman's swatting range.

"Lemme go! Lemme go, you damn Daywalker!" _It_ was so infuriating!

"Why the hell should I, fatass?" Kyle noticed that Cartman had refrained from calling him a Jew or any other such slur. He found it ominous, as that was the main reason Cartman hated him so and he loved to broadcast it.

"Because my mom is no more of a slut than yours is!" Cartman was beginning to get worn out from struggling so long against _it_.

"What the hell, Cartman! First you proclaim my mom a bitch and now you're saying she's a slut, too? What, are you bitter 'cuz you don't have a real mother to be with on Mothers' Day?"

Cartman bucked and writhed harder- _it_s words stung in so many ways that he still couldn't quite understand.

Kyle couldn't hold him down for much longer, as he was overwhelmed at the sudden strength Cartman began to display (after all, Cartman was by no means athletic. His vigor was a new development.) As Cartman landed a sloppy uppercut on Kyle's jaw, the smaller boy found himself falling backwards and onto the floor. He only stayed there for a minute before his opponent lifted him up by his jacket collar and slammed him into the dresser by the bed. Kyle winced as the lamp fell off of it and hit him on the head.

* * *

"Do you think it will be too much for them?" Liane asked worriedly.

"I don't know," admitted Gerald, "but Eric wanted to know, and it might do both boys good if they are away from us for a little while so they can sort this out for themselves."

"This is a good point," Liane agreed.

"We still need to tell Kyle, though. I hope he takes it alright." Sheila absently chewed at her nails.

"I'm sure he will be fine," Gerald stated. "Kyle's a mature boy for his age. Besides, it's not as if he and Eric are at each others' throats right now."

The three adults completely ignored the loud thuds coming from directly above them.

* * *

Now that Cartman had pinned _it _down and let out his initial violent outburst, he realized now that he didn't know what he wanted to do to _it_. This was bad- Eric Cartman always had a goal, an idea, a cruel comment, or some kind of pre-planned _plan _before he did anything this drastic. Right now, he had no clue as to what any of those were or why he had just assaulted _it_. He was in over his head and it _terrified_ him.

To Kyle, none of this insecurity registered with him. All he saw were Cartman's cold, calculating eyes. Kyle knew them well- he and Cartman stared each other down in a battle of wills almost every time they saw each other. This time, however, there was no ill mirth or triumphant greed in his stare. There was a great lacking of Cartman's characteristic spite, like a missing piece. Kyle wondered if this was related to the recent lack of Jew-bashing.

"Well, Cartman? What now?" Kyle chanced to ask. He had been pressed down into his dresser drawers for about five minutes now and Cartman had yet to do or say anything.

Cartman's right eye twitched in frustration. For once in his life, he was silent- not because he was so shocked that he couldn't speak but because he _still_ _couldn't think of anything to say_.

"Dammit, Cartman! Stop it with this silent treatment!" The handles ramming into Kyle's back were really starting to hurt.

Cartman's breathing was heavy and angry, but he was still at a loss of what words to form it into.

"Look, man, you won! I'm admitting defeat! Put me down!" Cartman's grip didn't loosen.

"Cartman!" A note of hysteria was beginning to enter Kyle's voice. "See, I lost! You won! That's what you want to hear, right?" Kyle found his unusual lack of backbone justified- Cartman's unpredictability and lack of obvious desire were scarier than his mom.

Finally, Cartman unceremoniously dropped _it_ and retrieved the battered Clyde Frog from the floor. He slowly dragged himself into a corner and sat there, facing Kyle's giant Einstein picture.

"Cartman?" Kyle straightened his hat as he watched the distressed boy shut himself off.

"Cartman, are you trying to, like, get me to somehow buy you a new Xbox because I threatened to break the first one that one time?" Kyle began to guess at what the scenario could possibly be here.

"Are you grounded for trying to exterminate the Jews again and your mom is making you apologize?"

Cartman stayed still.

"Did you unleash a timeless evil and in order to save the world you have to admit to me that you're an asshole?"

No answer.

"Your ego deflated?" Would that get a rise out of him?

No.

"Somebody cut off your balls?" Did that work?

Nope.

"You're gay." Kyle thought he had gotten him when Cartman shifted, but it was just a false alarm.

"A great asteroid came down to Earth and a whole bunch of aliens that look like the drummer from Blink 182 made you come be my servant and do whatever I say?

Nada. Kyle was getting angry again.

"You're trying to make me feel bad for you so that you can manipulate me into doing something stupid. Well, I'm not going to fall for it, fat boy."

Kyle stomped over to the other side of the room and faced the other wall.

"I mean it!" he turned and shouted.

"I really won't!" he added.

"You aren't gonna get me!"

"I'm super cereal!"

"You aren't gonna win!"

"You should just give up now!"

After yet another long pause, Kyle stood up and went to see what was eating at Cartman.

* * *

Stan Marsh was waiting in his living room for Kyle to come over like they'd planned. It sure was taking his friend a long time- he wondered if Kyle had gotten in trouble with his mother. Again.

Randy Marsh, Stan's dad, walked into the kitchen and collapsed against the nearest solid object.

"My day was awful. Stan, why don't you get your dear ol' dad a beer?"

Stan rolled his eyes and obediently walked across the room and retrieved a beverage from the refrigerator (located _right next to_ his father's arm) and handed it to him. Randy opened it and began to drain the bottle.

"I went over to the Broflovskis and they were playing a game," he began between gulps, "but I got kicked out."

"A game?" Stan asked, wondering why Kyle hadn't invited him to play. They were best friends, after all.

"Yeah. But it wasn't actually a game." Randy handed his empty beer bottle to his son. "Get me another one, would ya?"

Stan sighed and grabbed another beer for his father before disposing of the first one. "Well, c'mon, dad, what were they doing?"

"They were yelling. At each other and the Cartmans." He chugged his drink.

"Cartman was there?" Whenever Cartman was involved, it was major. Whenever Cartman and someone else were involved, it was huge. But most of all, whenever Kyle was thrown into the mix, it was majorly, hugely ugly. "What for?"

"Beats me. I wasn't paying attention. But Jimbo was there," he added, as if it were relevant.

"Dad! This could be important!"

"Whatever," Randy shrugged. "Hey, bartender, can you top me off?" He gestured to his emptied beer.

* * *

Cartman was sitting with a blank look on his face, picking at Clyde Frog's loose stuffing. Kyle waved a hand in front of his eyes.

The honest truth was that Cartman didn't have any idea what to do and needed to be alone right now. It had been his hope that _it_ would ignore him if he sat in the corner, but that had now backfired.

The one time that Cartman had actually _needed _his plan to work, it had failed miserably.

Funny irony, that.

Kyle examined the despondent Cartman for any signs of what the problem was. He wracked his brain for some kind of answer, but couldn't find one for the life of him. He thought back to the last insult he'd thrown to start this mess. It had been about Cartman's mom, hadn't it?

Suddenly, Kyle realized that the signs were obvious even if he wasn't sure of the exact cause.

For whatever reason, Cartman was having an emotional breakdown.

Kyle felt himself begin to laugh. Eric Cartman, of all people, was upset. The Eric Cartman who insulted everyone he'd ever met the instant he had seen them, _the_ Eric _Cartman _who did everything he could to tear others down, _the very same_ ERIC CARTMAN who loved nothing better than to spread feelings of anger and pain wherever he went (for his own gain, of course) was now sitting in a corner, depressed over something as lame as a glorified yo' mama joke.

Now _that_ was funny.

He felt bad for Cartman, he really did, but this was almost as amusing as the time that Carman had gotten AIDS after having his tonsils removed. Back then, the only thing that would have been more perfect in Kyle's mind would have been if Cartman the Jew-hater had somehow developed Tay-Sachs disease.

Of course, Kyle hadn't found the AIDS situation very funny when Cartman had snuck into his room one night and infected him with it. When he really thought about it, this was a common theme- no matter what Cartman's problem was, he always managed to make it Kyle's problem as well.

Just then, the door opened and Liane, Sheila, and Gerald walked in.

"Kyle, we have something very important to tell you," Sheila said.

With that, Kyle knew in his gut that this was the same type of situation as always. He sobered up so fast that it would have made a drunkard McCormick jealous.

Liane handed him the paper of enlightenment.

"Kyle, we've learned something today," Kyle's outrageous dread grew as his mother abused those privileged words, "and we think it's very important that you and Eric understand it."

* * *

It had been several hours since school had ended, and Stan was starting to worry about Kyle. It was very unlike him to shirk off responsibilities or other people, and surely he would have called the Marsh house if he were grounded or something. Stan decided to go check on his best friend.

"'Bye, Shelley," he said to his sister as he walked out the door. "Tell mom and dad I'm going to Kyle's."

"Move it, turd!" she threw her empty bowl of chips at his head as he made his way past the television to get to the door.

It wasn't very far to walk from Stan's house to Kyle's, but the strong mountain winds made it seem that much longer. As he went, Stan noticed that nobody else was out, but he didn't find it odd. Even though it was May, the snow hadn't completely melted and winter's icy grip was still holding on.

So, when Stan found Kenny sitting on the curbside, he was a little surprised.

"What're you doing here, Kenny?" Stan asked his friend.

Kenny gave a little shrug and pointed in the direction of his dilapidated house. The lights were all on and several shadows were flying across the windows at incredible speeds. A toaster crashed out the window.

"You're parents are fighting drunk again?"

Kenny muttered some insulting things that would have made Eric Cartman blush.

"Dude, that sucks. I'm going over to see Kyle. Do you wanna come?"

Kenny tightened his parka and stood up, making what he said next a little harder for Stan to understand.

"Yeah, he was supposed to come over, but something happened and now Cartman is yelling at the Broflovskis. I'm going to see what's going on."

Kenny figured that he had nothing better to do and followed his friend into the storm.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Kyle started. "I'm actually named Eric Cartman and Cartman is actually named Kyle Broflovski?"

The adults neither affirmed nor denied his statement. They just watched him.

Kyle's laughter cut through the noiseless room.

"Oh, man, is Cartman trying to get you to pull some prank on me? That's the craziest thing that could ever happen here!" he kept chortling as he scanned the solemn faces staring back at him.

"You…you are joking, right?" He found their collective silence even worse than Cartman's had been. He furtively wished someone would fart or burp or _something_ to break it.

Wait a minute. They _weren't joking_!

He found himself joining the speechless crowd as his face froze in a horrified mask. He made eye contact with Eric, whose eyes were shooting daggers.

"Boys," Liane gently began, "In light of this, we have decided that you two will be living at the other's house for a little while." When neither child responded, Liane struggled for words. "Think of it as a way to celebrate Mothers' Day."

"What do you think of that, Eric (or was it Kyle?)" The words made Sheila want to gag.

Eric (or was he Kyle?) didn't break eye contact with _it_, and his feeling of disgust was mutual.

"And how about you, Kyle (or was he Eric?)" Liane tried.

"Get out." The words were forced and monotone. "Get out of my room," he said flatly.

"Now."

"Alright, sweetheart," Sheila assured her son, ushering everyone out. "We'll give you some time alone." She closed the door behind her.

"I think that went rather well," Gerald intoned, trying to assuage the sick feeling that this whole situation had inspired.

"Liane, take Eric (or was it Kyle?) home with you like usual. We'll give them a few days." Sheila showed Ms. Cartman the door.

Liane nodded and ushered her son out of the doorway.

"I'm sorry," she said, and left.


	4. Birth of One Thousand Gay Babies

_Part Three: Birth of One Thousand Gay Babies_

Stan and Kenny waited a good ten minutes in the Broflovski's bushes before the door opened and the Cartmans left.

"I'm sorry," Stan heard Liane say.

They waited until they saw the Cartmans pull away in their car.

"Is ten more minutes enough waiting time so we don't look suspicious?" Stan whispered.

Kenny nodded and pulled his parka sleeve away so that he could look at his watch. After about thirty seconds of watching the seconds hand stay still, Kenny remembered that it was broken- stupid Burger King toy. He cursed for a few seconds.

Oh, well. He could always dig another one out of the mall dumpster. That's where he had found this one.

Kenny motioned for Stan to follow him to the door. Ten minutes, fifteen seconds- what was the difference?

"Hello?" Sheila answered on the first knock.

"Hey, Mrs. Broflovski! Is Kyle okay? He was supposed to come over today," Stan said.

"Oh, um, Kyle isn't feeling very well today so I, uh, made him stay home. Maybe he can play another day?" Sheila was obviously shaken about something, Kenny observed.

"Oh, alright, Mrs. Broflovski. We won't bother him, then." Stan gave his most polite smile as she closed the door.

Kenny gave his friend a sidelong glance and a snide comment.

"Like hell we will," Stan answered.

Kenny sniggered and began the secret technique to get to Kyle's upstairs window.

* * *

In his room, Kyle was starting to see the same appeal Cartman had in the Einstein poster as he copied the fat boy's earlier actions and numbly stared at it. This was probably the single most awful thing that Cartman had ever sucked Kyle into- it easily topped the many extermination campaigns that he tried to pull off. Kyle would do anything to change this stumbling block… this _ugly blot_ on his life.

He might even suck Cartman's fatass balls.

Kyle (or was he Cartman? No, he was still Kyle in his mind) was interrupted from his reverie when he heard the window slide open.

"Dude! What the hell was Cartman doing here?" Stan leapt into the room, Kenny in tow.

"He ruined my life." Kyle pulled his knees up to his face and put his head down. "What else would he be doing, Stan?"

"I dunno, besides being an asshole, you mean?" Stan knew his friend was going to be in a bad mood for hours if the conversation was off to a start this rough.

"He's my half-brother," Kyle spat out.

They stared at him in awe. Kenny recovered first and began wailing off his disbelief.

"No, Kenny, I'm not joking. It's too late for April Fools' Day jokes. His mom and my mom had a one night stand in Canada before my family moved here and this weekend he and I are switching houses."

Stan puked.

"Aw, gross, Stan! Not on my floor!"

Poor Stan kept on looking in Kyle's direction, chunks of barf still on his face. "And you're SERIOUS?" he managed.

"Why would I joke about this?"

Kenny, knowing Cartman's deceptive games all too well, demanded Kyle make Cartman supply proof.

Wordlessly, Kyle handed them the sheet of enlightenment.

"Holy shit," whispered Stan. Kenny agreed wholeheartedly.

"What're you gonna do about this?"

"I don't know." Kyle let the words hang in the air for a moment. "I just need some time to myself right now. I don't wanna make it into a big huge episode yet."

While Kenny personally thought that it was too late for that (whenever Cartman was involved, it all went to Hell), he joined Stan in solemnly swearing upon Stan's pocket-sized _Not without My Anus_ quote book to keep silent until Kyle decided otherwise.

After all, Kenny decided as he left Kyle's room, who could blow stuff out their ass and out of proportion better than Terrance and Phillip? This knowledge may be silent, but it was still deadly.

Stan turned around on the windowsill. "I just want you to know that you can always come live with me and hide under my bed, if you want. I can sneak Cheesy Poofs under the mattress for you."

From his place on the ground, Kenny added that he could drive him to the Mexican border in his battery-powered truck if Kyle wanted to skip the country. He'd done it for Kyle's newly-declared half-brother before- it wouldn't be a big deal.

Besides, it would be ironic and that was just _funny._

"Thanks, guys." Stan nodded in reply and made his way down to the ground.

Kyle watched his friends go. He hadn't told them the whole truth, but he hoped to God that he wouldn't have to.

* * *

The next day at school, both Kyle and Cartman attended and acted extremely abnormally. Both were suspiciously nice to the other, with Cartman offering Kyle his dessert and Kyle politely declining.

"Oh, no, I insist," Eric said.

"I really couldn't," replied Kyle.

"But you really enjoy it and I've had enough already," Eric reasoned.

"That's very kind of you, but it's yours. You eat it; you aren't fat or anything."

They gave a hesitant laugh that was much louder than it needed to be. After all, this wasn't unusual at all! It was totally not obvious that they were hiding something!

Kenny observed to Stan that it was more obvious than Mr. Garrison's man boobs had been.

"Or that Kanye West likes fishsticks," Stan challenged.

Kenny admitted defeat.

The day after that was exactly the same as the day before except that the bizarreness of the situation had now escalated to the point of Cartman and Kyle not speaking to anyone at all, preferring to stare down at their lunch trays in silence.

"This is more awkward than General Motors at a bank," Stan observed to Kenny.

Kenny challenged that it was more awkward than the birth of ten thousand gay babies.

"You win today, Kenny."

Friday seemed to be following the pattern as well: Cartman wouldn't make any smart remarks, Kyle would offer to share his answers; Cartman would uncharacteristically refuse, Cartman would offer Kyle the football at recess; Kyle would kindly insist Cartman keep it, and neither one would make a peep at lunch. It was another unusually dull day.

At least, it would have been if Cartman hadn't decided to make an announcement to the class during the last five minutes of school.

"Everyone," Eric climbed onto Mr. Garrison's desk, "I have discovered some important information that I think is only fair to share with you."

"Eric, what the hell are you doing? Get your fat ass off of their right now!" Mr. Garrison began to go ballistic.

"Shut up, Mr. Garrison. Nobody gives a crap anyway," Eric waved him off.

The class immediately sat forward in their seats- Cartman's attitude was back. This had to be _good_. Kyle felt himself begin to feel sick.

"Kyle and I are actually half-brothers."

The class gasped. Kyle sunk lower into his chair.

"And, after a really long and confusing twist of fate, it was revealed that _I_ am actually named Kyle Broflovski and _it,_" he pointed at Kyle, "is actually Eric Cartman."

The class gasped again. From his seat, Kyle wished that Cartman would die right then and there.

"And this is my last day as Eric Cartman. Starting tomorrow, I want to be known as my birth name- Kyle Hershial-Meshuginyh Broflovski."

"Are you shitting me?" Mr. Garrison blurted.

"Thank you. That is all." Eric hopped down from the desk.

In the expected silence that followed, Kenny observed that this whole situation was more disturbing than all of Imaginationland.

Stan challenged with a wave of puke. "Hurrrk!"

"W-wow, this is more disturbing th-than an elephant making love to a p-pig," Jimmy Vulmer stuttered out.

Stan and Kenny proclaimed Jimmy the winner that day.

* * *

Kyle prayed that Cartman would get hit by a bolt of lightning. He wanted a train to come derail itself and hit the boy who was wrecking his life. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole in the most painful manner possible. He wanted a giant Gundam-style Tom Cruise to come think Cartman's fat ass was a couch and jump up and down on him. He wanted Fifty Cent to put several bullets in his twisted little brain. Kyle wanted some stupid cult to come and stampede over Cartman's carcass several _hundred_ times.

"God, _why_ didn't you strike Eric Cartman with Tay-Sachs disease?" Kyle whispered before he was interrupted by his mother.

"Now, Kyle (or was it Eric? Sheila wasn't sure), you be very good for Ms. Liane. And if you need us, we're just a phone call away." She opened the door to the car to let him out.

"But what about Ike?" he protested. "Think of what awful things Cartman will do to him!"

"Kyle (or was it Eric?), your brother will be fine. Eric (or was it Kyle?) won't do anything to him- he's his brother, too."

"But, mom!"

"Kyle-! (Eric-?)" Sheila warned.

Grudgingly, Kyle grabbed his weekend bag and got out of the car.

"I love you," she said as her son dragged himself over to the doorstep where Liane and Eric were standing, reenacting a similar scene, except Cartman was being an even bigger butt monkey.

"But mooooooo-om! I don't wanna go live in that house! They practice Judaism there! "

"Now, Eric (or was it Kyle? Liane didn't know), Sheila is your… _other_ mother. You shouldn't be afraid of your heritage."

"Nooooooo!" Eric wailed. Despite his earlier speech at school, he wasn't quite happy or comfortable with _this_ part of the situation.

"Alright, sweetie, the Broflovskis are here. It's time to go," she coaxed.

"I'm not happy with what's going on," said Kyle.

"I don't want to!" screamed Cartman.

"But I love you too, mom."

"I don't wanna!"

The boys traded places at their mothers' sides with lead feet.

Kyle glared daggers at Eric as he climbed into the back seat of the Broflovski car. Eric returned the gesture as well as a new one involving his middle finger from the car window.

Kyle and Liane waved to their respective loved one as the car pulled away.

Liane turned to her long-lost child. "Well, Kyle (Eric?), I'm sure that you probably want some time to arrange your things. You'll be using Eric's room- and I've got some things planned for us to do this weekend, if you feel up to it! Won't that be fun?" Liane asked, ushering him in the door.

It took every ounce of willpower Kyle had to not start screaming and running out the door.

"You go on upstairs and put your things away. I'll give you some time to adjust." Liane continued on as if the boy had answered her. "I'll be making dinner down here, so if you want anything, just call."

Kyle felt himself being led to an upstairs bedroom and completely blocked out the rest of Ms. Cartman's inane ramblings as he died a little bit on the inside with each step.

He was going to be staying in Cartman's room. He wanted out of this whole ordeal, desperately. He didn't care at what cost. As the door closed behind him, Kyle got on his knees.

Kyle prayed that he would get hit by a bolt of lightning. He wanted a train to derail itself and hit him before his life was wrecked any more. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole in the fastest manner possible. He wanted a giant Optimus Prime to come barreling down the highway and flatten him. He wanted Stan's uncle Jimbo to think he was a rabid animal and put him out of his misery. Kyle wanted to be run over by the entire population of Kenya several hundred times.

"God, _why_ didn't you let me be born Anne Frank?"

* * *

Cartman pouted the whole way to the Broflovski's house.

"Now, I know that this is a lot for you to handle right now," Sheila began, "but I want you to know that we are all very supportive of you and are ready to welcome you into the family." The words left a bad taste in her mouth.

Eric only rolled his eyes and muttered some insults.

Eric wanted Kyle to be struck by a sudden attack of faggotism and choke on someone's balls. He wanted a Mel Gibson to come beat Kyle to death with the wrench that had been thrown into Eric's life. He wanted Manbearpig to swallow him in the most painful manner possible. He wanted Mr. Hankey to derail Santa's sleigh and flatten Kyle until not even his curly hair could spring back up. He wanted to personally drown him in his best friend Stan's vomit. Eric wanted his Christmas Pageant animals to have their way with Kyle several _thousand_ times before they dropped the axe on the daywalker's head.

"God, _why_ didn't you let Kyle be aborted?"

Sheila hadn't heard him. "We know that you are a little scared of the Jewish practice, but we feel that it will all be not so scary after synagogue. You'll learn all sorts of new things and see that there is nothing to be afraid of."

Cartman repressed the urge to take the steering wheel from her hands and crash them into the nearest tree.

He calmed himself and remembered that if he could just make it through this weekend, he could have the joy of proving himself better than Kyle Broflovski at everything- after all, it wasn't about Jews or Christians or gingers or hippies or blacks or gays or straights or Canadians or China or friends or family.

"Eric (Kyle?), are you alright?" Cartman had ceased acknowledging her at all, and that made Sheila nervous.

"Oh, I'm fine," Eric snapped back into reality as smoothly as a snake through grass. "I think that this will be a new and educational experience for me." His suave, deceptively friendly smile appeared on his wide face. "But please, mom, call me Kyle."

_After all, it was just about_ _rubbing it in the Daywalker's face._


	5. Sunny Weather

_Part Four: Sunny Weather_

Kenny wanted nothing more than to sleep in and just relax at his house so he'd be well-rested when Cartman broke all hell lose and it stampeded into town.

But after being greeted by his parents (or, rather, had random projectiles thrown at him) and the scent of cheap beer first thing in the morning, Kenny McCormick decided that this wasn't a good Saturday to be at home if his parents were going to start drinking this early.

He threw on his orange parka and dragged himself outside, digging around in his threadbare pockets to see if any Cheerio crumbs were stuck in the seams for breakfast. He thought his bad day had turned around when his hand hit something thicker than his jacket lining, and he yanked it out hungrily.

No such luck. It was a quarter. With a sigh, Kenny stuck it back in his coat and wondered what he could do on a Saturday with no breakfast, no parents, impending chaos, and a quarter.

Eventually, he found himself outside the gas station on the outskirts of town. Maybe he could buy some gum.

He peeked in the window and scanned past the drunken hillbillies (probably his relatives) and truckers and Hispanics buying groceries, past the cheap-o condom counter, and…

Damn. The gum's price had inflated faster than the price of gas ever had- it was now fifty friggin' cents.

Looking dejected, Kenny slammed his head against the bullet proof Plexiglas and wondered what he was going to do with his Saturday. He gave the condom counter another look. Maybe he could see if he could pilfer one of those pale rubber sacks and try to fit it over his head. Finally, Kenny steered his eyes over to the _other_ white trash and wondered if he could hotwire their pickup trucks and go joyriding.

But that was what he considered _every_ Saturday, usually finishing up with the decision to just go inside and look at the Sports Illustrated calendars. In fact, he was almost to the magazine rack when he realized that, unlike previous weekends, he had a quarter and that the gas station had a payphone.

_And it only cost twenty five cents to use the payphone._

"Bathroom's the other way!" the store clerk called after Kenny's rushing form.

Giddily, almost maniacally, Kenny shoved the coin into the slot and grabbed the receiver. Ohh, who to call, who to call? Kenny dialed in the first number he thought of, figuring that if it wasn't someone he wanted to talk to he could just make it a crank call.

He was pleasantly surprised when Stan Marsh picked up on the first ring.

"Dude, Kenny? You have a home phone now?"

Psh. Hell, no.

"Oh, well, what did you call me for? Why didn't you walk over to my house? It's closer."

Kenny didn't feel like admitting that blowing a quarter on a toll phone made him feel like he wasn't actually poor, so he turned the conversation around to inquire what Stan was doing.

"I'm playing outside with some toy cars on this beautiful Friday afternoon," he answered automatically.

Kenny scoffed. Yeah, right. It was a shitty, rainy Saturday morning. He told Stan he was spewing crap.

"Look, dude, I just don't want to think about what Cartman said. Kyle told us to not talk about it, remember?" he paused. "And I _know_ its Saturday morning, okay?"

Kenny promptly reminded him that Cartman had blown the whole ordeal out of his giant ass (as predicted) and that their promise was null and void.

"Kenny, I _know_ that!" Stan was completely contradicting himself, to Kenny's immediate irritation. It was extremely annoying how Stan was acting like a total girl about the whole thing.

So, Kenny offered to buy him some porn to make his testosterone cancel out his estrogen.

"Ew, dude, no!"

Wow. His pansy outbreak was pretty bad. Kenny tried making some perverse cracks that he found to be particularly manly.

There was a pause and some static on the other line. "Look, if you're gonna be an ass about this, I'm just gonna go hang out with Butters or something."

He wanted to hang out with Butters? It was worse than Kenny feared.

"See you later, dude." Kenny heard Stan hang up.

This was bad- Butters might use his powers of Marjorine to completely corrupt Stan into a constant state of feminism, and not just an outbreak from stress. Alarmed, Kenny put the payphone back into the cradle and began the trek to the Stotch's house.

He had to cure this fag fest and make this Saturday count, dammit!

* * *

Kyle ate his breakfast in an unsettled silence. This was very different than last night's complete and utter "please-drown-me-now-I-wish-I'd-stuck-with-David-Blainism" silence, as he managed to blink a few times and not just slump in the chair with his mouth agape. Liane took this as a major improvement-maybe her son was going to adjust just fine after all! Or maybe he simply liked bacon and eggs more than homemade biscuits and country fried steak with redeye gravy and hand mashed potatoes with extra butter and fresh blueberry pie for desert. Liane wasn't really sure.

Still, the unsure mother decided to try to start a conversation with her son.

"So, um, (which name?) Schnookums, do you like your breakfast? I can make pancakes instead, if you like."

"Um. No. I'm good." Kyle absently poked at his eggs.

He answered! Things might be looking up! Liane decided to take her chances.

"Well, sweetheart, if you feel up to it, we can do all those mother-son activities I spent all week planning."

Kyle wondered what kind of "activities" this woman had planned. The honest truth was that he had no desire to find out- nice as Liane was, she was related to Eric Cartman and that made her suspicious.

"Yeah. Sure." The desperate look on Liane's face made Kyle reconsider. And, after all, he reasoned, wasn't he also related to the fatass?

Wait, no, he didn't just admit that. He was _associated _to the fatass. That was the only thing Kyle was ready to truly admit to himself at this point.

"Oh! Well, alright, um, how about we go work in the garden first? We can feel the nice sunshine and spend time with beautiful Mother Nature! How does that sound?"

Kyle chanced a look at the black clouds congregating in the heavy sky. They looked about as inviting as Ms. Crabtree's naughty bits.

"Actually, no, I uh, don't think so. Thanks."

"Um, we could go and play Mexican Train! How about that?"

Being nine and having absolutely no patience for adult games, Kyle decided to see if he could squirm himself out of this predicament completely.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm gonna go out and see my friends. To help me, uh, adjust."

Liane's face fell.

"Alright, then. Maybe later?" Her words went unheeded as Kyle zipped out the door.

* * *

Eric had valiantly tried the same stunt as his half-brother, but found that his biological mother was a lot harder to manipulate than his biological father. First, he'd been taught a full nine years' worth of Judaism in one morning before spending "quality time" with his Canadian "sibling" (bah, Ike was _adopted_! He wasn't worth crap to Eric- this weekend was just going to be an exercise in gay, five-ass idiocy) before he found himself sitting in the temple, a cheap brown yarmulke sitting crookedly off his head and Hebrew gibberish floating around him.

Now, most people only saw the fat and unpolished exterior (and the more than occasional swastika armband- the Jewish community the rotund boy was currently sitting in was having an especially hard time seeing past that today) of Eric Cartman (or Kyle Broflovski, as the case may be), but the truth was that despite everyone's negative impressions of the boy, it was undeniable that he was incredibly, fantastically clever.

So it took him about five minutes to figure out that most of these Jews didn't know what the characters on the Torah in front of them were or what the Sheol they were saying.

"Lichtensproing. Abu dabi Allah asswipe shengala. Shengala. Shit gala. Shitty party. Shit fire and save the matches. Dick tits. Wala wala wala Waluigi. Yeowee. Goo goo ga joob. Joob. Jew. Joo. Crank dat soldja boi. Kikes. Kikety-kike-kike-kike. Mother fucker. Schnitzel dumplings. Sauerkraut, Manbearpig. Suck my balls and call me a bitch. Phlegm. Ohh!" At this point in his pseudo-Hebrew, the adults had turned around and were looking at him in horrified awe. Cartman was halfway through hacking a lugi before he noticed them.

"Shit," he thought, and it was on the tip of his tongue when the rabbi interrupted.

"Dear Jesus, he speaks near-perfect Hebrew!"

Cartman wondered why a Jew would be saying "dear Jesus", but became distracted by what happened next and forgot any smartass jokes he had in mind.

The rabbi grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up to where the Torah was resting, bathed in the glorious light coming from the skylight above it.

"Eric Cart-" the rabbi earned himself a glare. "Kyle Broflovski," he corrected himself, "can you read this?"

Well, this was a predicament. Eric _could_ say no and be an honest schmuck like the real Kyle, saying he was just mimicking what he heard (which wasn't completely untrue but would still get him scolded and grounded by the Biggest Bitch in the Whole Wide World herself), but Eric could _also_ say yes and cause all sorts of chaos and drama and screw up this situation completely- like, FUBAR caliber screwing.

Very, very carefully, he pondered his options.

"Yes." Why the hell _shouldn't _he pass up this golden opportunity?

"Oh, really?" one skeptic Semite stood up and stamped his foot. "Why should we believe a word you say?"

"Now, now," the rabbi said, "The Broflovskis have been faithful members since they moved here. I'm sure they've taught their sons the value of honesty-"

"That kid isn't Kyle Broflovski! I don't know what's going on, but that's Little Hitler! That's Eric Cartman! He's not a Jew! He's anything _BUT_!" (Cartman tried hard to hide his smile. He always thought of himself as an Aryan, despite the wrong feature colors.)

"Now, Mr. Schlong, you know as well as I do that this boy is the real Kyle. They explained it to us on Wednesday, remember? How the boys were switched…"

"Rabbi, you know that he's still the same little anti-Semitic, Ginger-hating, manipulative fatass he was before!"

The rabbi made a move to intervene, but Eric had already formulated a plan and several lies he could use to his advantage (and, of course, none but the other Kyle Broflovski would be the wiser!) and let loose his silver tongue.

"Don't call me a fatass, you motherfucking Jew dog!"

Luckily for Cartman, he only _thought_ that.

What he really said was, "Please, please, my brother. I realize that many of you hate me for terrorizing you in the past and, frankly, never dreamed I would come here to you as anything but a Hitler-impersonator. I also didn't believe that I would ever stand where I am standing today as anything other than a, well, Hitler-impersonator. But, after learning of my heritage, I renounced my former errors and devoted myself to learning what I neglected to cherish, turning first to deciphering the great knowledge passed on through our people. I realize now that I was wrong. Jews aren't evil, and being Jewish doesn't immediately make someone into the stereotype of a cheap, nearsighted, mind-numbingly cheap, short, slime sucking, cheap, greedy drain on society. Nothing is the Jewish community's fault! In fact, Jews have been falsely persecuted for far too long and I admire their, or, dare I say it, _our_, tenacity and strength of faith.

I can read this. I'll prove it to you- watch, and be convinced of my Semitic…osity." Cartman said it with such eloquence that they didn't even bat an eyelash at his mention of the word 'cheap' three times. They didn't even notice his little stumble at the end.

Confident that he'd buttered them up enough, Cartman sauntered up to the Torah and thought up the most insulting things he could imbed into his Jew-voice.

"Drachma schawing shwong Schwartz. Ramalama Ding dong. Dick Tits. Shitheaded bastards. Shoop da whoop. Buy me some chipoltle. Noob. Frag the noobage. Dreidels suck harder than your mother…

* * *

It would have to have been fate that led Kyle past the Synagogue on his way to Stan's house (they were on two completely different sides of town), and as he did, he couldn't help but peek into the window.

And, of course, fatass was at the podium and making everyone love him as he charmed them with his twisted mind. Kyle put his ear to the glass and tried to hear what lies he was spewing now.

"Fuck a duck, then a schmuck. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Messugah, vas dis mean…"

Wait, was Cartman pretending to read the Torah? Surely they weren't actually going to believe this mound of utter shit they were hearing to be Hebrew!

Kyle watched in mounting frustration as Cartman's filthy mouth got him applauded by the Jewish community. He would've just walked away, his temper dangerously near the boiling point, had his father not take a knee to Cartman and pronounced him an honorary Broflovski, regardless of parentage.

Kyle stormed into the synagogue, rage billowing around him, and let loose upon his Jewish brethren.

"Do you honestly believe this is Hebrew? This is just Cartman being an asshole! You couldn't have already fallen under his spell this quickly!"

The rabbi turned in bewilderment. "What do you mean, dear boy? Of course this is Hebrew! Did you learn nothing when you came to synagogue?"

Cartman couldn't resist. "Yeah, did you forget that time so _very long ago _when you were considered one of God's Chosen People? Has the evil world outside changed you?"

"Shut up, fatass!" Kyle blasted up the aisle and shoved Cartman away from the Torah. "Seriously, you guys, he's just saying rude and random crap with a whole lot of phlegm. This isn't Hebrew."

"What are you talking about? This is totally Hebrew!" One man declared.

"No, watch, I can do it, too!" Kyle cleared his throat. "Schlomo shit porn poon fuckingdammitmisterhat Mm 'kay Cracka-lackin' Terrance and fuck-up—"

"Kyle!" His mother shrieked. "I can't believe you'd say such a thing! Where did you learn those words?" She took an offensive position like she was going to display her authority by a thousand weeks of being grounded.

"But that's just what Cartman was doing!" Kyle stood his ground against his mother (as Gerald held her back.)

"Now, now, Sheila, I think I know what's going on here." Gerald Broflovski went over to Kyle. "You must feel a little bit upset, like your mother and I are abandoning you, right?"

The words hit closer to the truth that Kyle had imagined, but they weren't really the issue at hand. "Yeah, a little, but that's not the point—" Kyle was cut off again.

"But you don't have to worry about that. Nothing's changed all that much and we still care for you." Gerald paused in his comforting speech ad put a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "After this weekend, you can still come see your mother and I anytime you need us… Eric."

_Eric?_

"No, dad, no, I'm Kyle. I'm… I'm your son."

Gerald hesitated. "No, um, you're not… you're not… biologically my son, no. You're Eric Cartman and I know it will take some getting used to…"

"But you're still my bubbie, Eric," Sheila added, hoping to be helpful.

"_What?"_

Cartman saw his chance from the look in Kyle's eyes and went for the clusterfuck.

"Yeah, Cartman, now that things have changed, maybe you can learn to be less of an asshole and more accepting of Jews and gingers." Cartman grinned innocently. He had Kyle in a corner.

_WHAT?_

"Maybe we can all learn to get along now, Eric," a nearby Jew added, following Cartman's brainwashing identity-switch plan perfectly.

_Could nobody tell?_

"Maybe we could have both you and Kyle attend this synagogue someday, Eric," Gerald stated, putting his hand on Cartman's head. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Imagine it- no more little Hitler problems," mused the rabbi.

_COULD NOBODY TELL THAT CARTMAN- THE REAL CARTMAN- WAS GOING TO SCREW THEM OVER?_

"Well, you just think about it, okay, Cartman?" Kyle felt the fatass give him a gentle push towards the exit.

"See you, funny man," Ike mumbled.

Kyle walked out the door in complete and utter shock, a stupefied look upon his features.


	6. God, Please Don't Damn It

_Part Five: God, Please Don't Damn It_

Looking back on it, it had been a particularly shitty way to die.

He'd been headed to Butters' house, bearing condoms and toilet humor, but he'd run into Clyde and Token on the way and they'd begun discussing some triviality or another- it wasn't really that relevant to the situation at hand- and they'd spotted the forlorn figure of Kyle Broflovski making his way across the asphalt. They'd all stopped and stared, dumbly, as little boys were apt to do in the face of complete devastation, and once the dejected redhead was out of hearing range they had resumed their conversation as abruptly as they'd stopped it. However, when Kyle went to Cartman's house (without any hesitation) and the light in the large boy's room had flickered on, not even the child-devil whose private sanctuary had just been invaded could have denied being a little bit worried.

"Do you think we should do something?" Clyde had asked. They had then decided to all make the pilgrimage to the Stotch household together.

At Butters', Token had only to mention that Kyle needed help and Stan was all business. Once expanded to a party of five, the little group had then trekked over to the Cartman household, knocked on the door, and promptly been turned away, with Liane's excuse of "Eric isn't feeling well."

The next thing any of them knew, Stan had pulled the ladder out of the shed and tried, pathetically, to prop it up against Cartman's windowsill.

Once they had successfully managed to get the ladder stationed against the side of the house, Butters got volunteered to be the first one up.

"But, but, I-I'm scared, you guys. If my parents see me breakin' in somebody's house, I'll be grounded!"

So he, Kenny, being the brave stud he was, had sighed, trudged on up the ladder, and began to pick at the window, checking to make sure the fatass hadn't set any traps (after living near him for so long, Kenny knew anything was possible.) He had opened the window a crack and gave a thumbs-up to his compadres below when it had happened.

Clyde had chosen the moment when Kenny had not had both hands on the ladder to sneeze and bump Butters, who had been holding the ladder steady.

Even now, Kenny really wasn't sure what happened exactly, but he knew it didn't have anything to do with impalement or blood spurts or anything cool like that. He figured he'd just nondescriptly blacked out like a total lame-ass.

Faintly, he had heard footsteps on the ladder and the sound of the window opening, finally losing all consciousness at the sound of Stan's voice:

"Oh my God…"

Of course, none of that really mattered to Kenny now. The sun shone brightly and he was standing in a field of flowers and clouds, stirring them all up with his snow-covered boots. He walked around for a little bit with his arms stretched out and let the sunlight filter through his coat and onto his bundled face. Slowly, he bent down and untied his shoes and shucked his socks, unzipped his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and even went so far as to remove his orange pants.

The sun felt wonderful on his exposed arms and he threw his gloves on the ground and let his hands join them in the sun. He spun around, arms out wide again. Kenny noticed how the clouds around his feet expanded into the sky in giant white plumes, like he wasn't standing on grass at all, like it was all the top of the sky and he couldn't help but think how he was even higher than that.

He meant emotionally, of course. Kenny hadn't done any drugs for a while.

Still, he was higher than a kite, floating up above cloud nine, and most likely out of his head as well. He laughed once more and turned his head skyward, grinning like a madman.

Finally, he stopped spinning and tore off his hood. The light all around him was warm and inviting and he didn't feel the need to conceal himself from it. He let his jacket slide to the ground.

It wasn't a surprise to any observer that Kenny was totally enamored with the sunshine- most small children had a preference for it in some way, shape, or form, and Kenny was no exception, no matter how mature his interests were. In fact, when one thought about it, Kenny's predilection for his bright and cheery orange parka was no surprise- Kenny hated the cold, dark, long winters; some cruel twist of fate had chosen for him to live his life in the Colorado Mountains.

Jesus knew how much Kenny hated his home's climate. In fact, it was Jesus Christ himself who gathered up Kenny's clothes and tapped the boy (who was now in nothing but his underwear) on the shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie.

"How was it this time?" Jesus asked, holding out a sock Kenny had tossed.

"I fell off a ladder," he said, taking the sock from his Savior's hand.

"Ouch. Well, it beats that one time you were eaten from the inside out by rats."

"That one time? Which one?" The pair laughed good-naturedly.

The two conversed for a little while longer, at first very general things and then they moved on to more pressing matters.

"Where are all those naked chicks that are usually here?"

Jesus rolled his eyes and smiled. "Kenny, you don't really have time for that right now. You'll be going back soon. Keep your clothes on," he finished, handing him his pants.

Kenny plopped down on the grass and proceeded to put his clothing back on as the Lord intended. He got his foot into one pant leg and paused. "I can't even flirt?" he asked, earning himself a shake of Jesus' head.

Kenny pursed his lips and fell back on the grass. This was the suckiest death he'd had so far. "Man, this is _gay,_" he said. Jesus sighed and handed him more clothes.

"What do I do about Kyle?" Kenny asked as he popped his head through his undershirt.

"Which one? Do you mean Eric Cartman or the original Kyle Broflovski?" Jesus replied with a grin.

"I thought the Son of God was s'posed to be all-knowing," Kenny shot back, returning the smile. "Both, I guess," he added, the happy expression fading from his face.

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that."

Kenny nodded and finished jamming his fingers into his mittens. "Where will Kyle land the first punch? I wanna make bets on it with Jimmy and Token."

Kenny's vision faded to match the color of the perfect clouds and Jesus' answer was smothered out of his ears.

_Damnit_. He'd just have to go visit him at his house on earth- Jesus did live in South Park, after all.


	7. I Really Hate That's What She Said Jokes

_Part Six: I Really Hate 'That's What She Said' Jokes_

"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"

Stan's two-man proclamation was left only half-said. Awkwardly, he entered the room and took a few steps towards Kyle.

"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"

The lonely phrase echoed through the room, unanswered and haunting.

"Kyle?"

There was only eerie emptiness instead of Kyle's usually indignant reply.

"Oh, my God, they, um, killed Kenny."

Stan was getting really sick of all of the awkward pauses and repetitive phrases that his town was abusing so terribly lately, so even though he was only nine, he fucked this pseudo-serious narrative up the asshole (Mephesto would be proud) and whirled his best friend around to scream in his face.

"OH MY GOD THEY KILLED KENNY!" Kyle's lips and eyelids parted open and blew around like thin rubber strips, which looked utterly ridiculous compared to the self-pitying, sulking funk Kyle was in; Stan meant well, but his earnest vocal cord force was totally killing the mood.

"OH MY GOD FATASS KILLED MY SOUL!" Kyle shot back.

"No, dude, that's not your line at all- you're s'posed to say, y'know," Stan gestured a cue for Kyle.

"Stan, can't you tell that this isn't the time for that? There are bigger things I'm worried about right now!" His voice was manic and tearful, like an underprivileged girl trying to get into an abortion clinic.

"Dude, but we ALWAYS do it now!" Stan argued.

"I don't want to!"

"C'mon!"

"Dammit, Stan, I'm not in the mood for this right now!"

"It doesn't matter- we've gotta finish it. It's happened _now_, so we gotta do it _now_!"

"No!"

"Please, Kyle! Do it for me!"

"Gah, Stan, I just- I- I'm not in the mood for this! Shit's just piling up and it's all happening way too quickly for me. I can't deal with this right now!"

"So it's big, huh?"

"It's _huge_, Stan! It's _enormous_! I didn't even know anybody could make something get _that big_ before crap just explodes everywhere and-"

Kyle's screaming rant was broken by Token's snickering.

"I hope you guys know," Clyde began, "that was the longest 'That's What She Said' I've ever heard."

"Shit, Stan, and you had to bring these guys along as well?"

Butters popped his head into the window, his bubbly voice perfectly punctuating the overkill of drama kill with a late punch line. "That's what she said, fellas!"

Kyle dished out his complimentary "I can't believe you" stare for a good three seconds. "Stan, I'm going through something totally traumatizing right now. What in the hell did you have to bring these guys in for?" Stan held up his hands in a feeble attempt to placate his friend.

"Look, Kyle, I know you're upset, but we're all worried about you and the best way to derail Cartman is to act as normally as possible." He gave Kyle a gentle shove. "Now say it."

"No."

"Dammit, at least do it for Kenny."

"Like he cares! He's up there in heaven, probably laughing at us and doing whatever he wants! One little exclamation isn't gonna do anything for him!"

"C'mon, Kyle, settle down and do it!"

"Like hell I will!" The little redhead shoved his finger into the tip of Stan's nose and proceeded to jam it into his face for emphasis.

"Cartman just _fucked_ with my _synagogue_, and now they're all replacing _me_ with _him_!"

Token saw this as a golden opportunity. "Wow, did Cartman actually do your mom? Is doing Mrs. Broflovski like a family legacy, or something?"

"Shut the hell up, Token!" Kyle turned his attention back to Stan. "So like I was _saying_, Cartman shoved his _lies _down _everybody's throat_ and—"

"Whoa, your mom deep throated him?" Clyde's nasally voice floated through the conversation.

"_Dammit_, Clyde! _Stop saying shit_ _about_ _my_ _mother_!" Stan's little face, which was not what Kyle's flying spit and heated words were aimed at, received no mercy from the livid redhead's finger.

"Geez, Kyle, stop shoving your finger in my face each time you say something. You're not even talking to me right now!" Stan's poor nose was starting to bruise.

"No, Stan! I'll do whatever I want with my finger!" Kyle jabbed harder.

"That's what she said!" Token shouted.

"Kyle, what the hell! That hurts!" Stan swatted at his friend's hand. Clyde cracked another "That's what she said!" and he and Token burst into uproarious laughter.

"_Too damn bad_, Stan! _You _came in here with all _this shit_," Kyle used his other hand to gesture to the peanut gallery sitting at the window, "So _I'm_ _at least_ gonna get _something_ out of it!"

"That's what she said!" Butters chirped, trying to get in on the hysteria by the window. Token and Clyde ignored him, still laughing.

"Why are you being such a douche? Gah, you're acting like Cartman!" Stan shook his head to deter Kyle from poking his nose.

"I am _not_," he put his hands down and pumped his head forward for emphasis this time, "_anything_ like Cartman!"

Stan's patience ran out. "Are you sure? 'Cause you sure are acting like it!"

Butters chose this moment to insert an awkward "That's what she said!", but other than Token and Clyde, who were telling Butters that he was stupid because he totally had no idea what "That's what she said!" was used for, his desperate grab for attention was completely irrelevant to everything else going on. Everything else, of course, involved the Super Best Friends letting their minor squabble escalate into World War III.

"Listen, man, if you had to deal with half the shit I've gone through today, you'd wanna pound something, too!" (This particular phrase would have been a perfect "That's what she said!", but sweet little Butters had no idea what he was doing and his wiser friends were currently distracted by his naiveté.)

"That doesn't mean you have to, though!"

"No, but I can't really resist an open invitation quite like your _face_!"

"Oh, so, you're just gonna take out your frustration on everybody around you?" Stan was not only letting his antsy feelings of worry for Kyle skew his judgment, but he was also(both literally and figuratively) sore about the earlier nose rape Kyle had performed and didn't think to edit his next sentiments before letting them out of his mouth. "I guess it _runs in the family_!"

"Don't judge who's around me! _Your_ taste in people you _choose_ to hang around with is _awful_! Your girlfriend is a _bitch_ and so is your mom!" Although Kyle actually kind of liked both women, he felt he had to sling mud on something.

In the background, the window spectators gave a collective "Ooooooh."

"So you admit he's your brother!"

Next thing anybody knew, Kyle had punched Stan in the nose. Token excused himself to go call an ambulance for Kenny.

"Dude, that wasn't even a real insult!"

"I don't care! You're being an asshole!"

"You're being a Cartman! That's even worse! That's a _fat_ asshole!"

"_I AM NOT FAT_!"

Perhaps it was the dust suddenly caught in his throat, or perhaps it was the stench of the owner of the room infiltrating his nostrils, but Kyle's voice suddenly adopted the characteristic Eric indignation, which, as Stan very well knew, Kyle could not do on command. Five pairs of eyes trained themselves to the little Jew's mouth.

"Holy shit, dude, maybe you really do need some alone time." (Had Kenny been conscious, he'd have screamed to Stan that he'd told him so.)

As Stan retreated towards the window, Clyde came forward and put a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "I remember being the fattest kid in South Park." He removed his hand and followed Token down the ladder.

Butters felt he owed it to his distraught classmate to say something encouraging to Kyle as well, seeing as they were both frequent victims of the little Hitler's schemes. He fiddled with his hands for a moment and mustered up the most inspirational thing he could think of to say.

"That's what she said?" After about five seconds, Butters registered the angry looks he was getting and shrunk back to the ladder like a beaten dog.

Stan was, of course, still the last one to go. He gave Kyle a pointed look before finally hopping over the windowsill. Kyle watched him go.

"Oh, God," he looked up at the ceiling, "What should I do?"

* * *

It had kind of been like a kiddie softball game- it wouldn't have really mattered if the annual Screwing of the Kyle maneuver had been a success or not because they'd all go out for ice cream afterwards anyway, but this time Eric had been the MVP (on a team of one.) Not only that, he surmised that he'd managed to convince the other team to jump covenant and switch sides over to his dugout _and then_ he had used the commotion to trample his sole competition. He'd done it so well that the previously opposing team now sitting with him in the ice cream parlor (as predicted) and recounting some of his most choice plays.

By opposing team, he meant Jewish Community. And by choice plays, he meant merciless wordplay of the Hebrew language. And by commotion, he meant he'd totally decimated Kyle on his home turf.

Man, baseball comparisons were kickass today.

"So, Kyle," began the rabbi, licking at his rum raisin, "What do you plan to do with your almost miraculously messianic ability to read Hebrew? Are you going to devote your life to speaking to the Chosen People and inspiring them?"

One would have expected sly Eric to reply with some humanitarian bullshit that'd do most parents proud, but anyone who expected that kind of thing severely underestimated his manipulative prowess. Meaning, since the humanitarian route was _everyone's_ expectation, that Eric Cartman was much slicker than thought humanly possible.

"I'm but a humble child of God. I can't possibly impose my gift upon others and make them do my bidding by tricking them- what if I make a mistake or falsely represent Him?" His reptilian smile would have made Darth Vader's breath go on mute. "For now, I just want to spend time with my beloved mother."

Sheila took the bait and let Eric percolate into every family quirk and secret the Broflovskis had, and Eric blended in perfectly so he could suck the marrow out of all the things Kyle had never mentioned- including baby pictures. He even stomached the awful Jew-tainted cooking he was served without adding two extra sticks of butter and some pop tarts to every meal. He grinned between mouthfuls of rye bread (the grossest stuff on earth) and wondered how the real Kyle was dealing with a weekend full of shit weather and Mexican Train while he was learning everything Kyle had never wanted him to know.

* * *

Kenny opened his eyes in the hospital and found Butters and Stan standing there in front of him.

"Hey, Kenny! How are you? It was a false alarm- you didn't actually die this time, you just got knocked out and a couple of bones broken." Butters grinned. "In'nit great?"

Kenny cursed and slipped back under the covers. The warm glow of Heaven had already worn off.


	8. Identity Crisis

_Part Seven: Identity Crisis_

Kyle had gotten up, gotten dressed, gotten breakfast, gotten doted over by Liane, gotten on the bus, gotten weird stares from the kids, gotten pissed at Stan, gotten off the bus, gotten called "Cartman" by everybody he knew except Stan, gotten into his seat, and gotten told by Mr. Garrison that "gotten" wasn't a word he could use in his journal about what he'd done this morning.

"Well fuck you, too!" Kyle screamed in frustration.

Jimmy whispered to Token that Cartman had completely skipped the foreplay today and gone straight for the main event.

"Eric, don't you dare talk to me that way!"

"I'm Kyle! _KYLE_! And I'll do whatever the fuck I want, Garrison!"

"Yeah, if you can get off your fat ass to actually do it!" Eric had slid into the role of a new Kyle beautifully. Some of the husky edge had even softened off of his vocal chords.

"HEY! Don't pull that switch with _me_, Cartman!" Kyle sent a quick prayer to God that his classmates weren't as stupid as his parents. "I mean, you all haven't possibly fallen for his dumb ploy, right?"

"Friday you fellas said your identities was switched," Butters (un)helpfully offered.

"Yeah, but what the hell did I do to support that claim? That was only Cartman who said that." He glared at those who were giving him funny looks and pointed his middle finger to the larger child in question. "The _real_ one."

Wendy opened her mouth. "On the bus this morning, you called me a whore. Cartman always does stuff like that."

"Yeah, and your voice sounds fatter." This latter interjection came from Craig, who had just walked in from the Counselor's office.

None of this was helping Kyle's case at all- it was true that his fat-of-the-throat voice had gotten worse over the weekend in ways that suggested an adolescent male in puberty, but that shouldn't prove him Cartman as charged!

"So?"

Stan leaned over and whispered to his best friend. "Well, dude, I mean, you haven't really made an effort to prove otherwise, so it's not like it's that hard to believe…"

"Shut up, Stan! Quit being a fag!"

Behind them, Kenny couldn't be less interested. He wondered whether or not any hot lesbian couples in Florida or California or something would adopt him if he ran away. He was sick of the cold.

"Okay, okay, class, let's actually pay attention and try to _learn_ something today." Mr. Garrison was already bored with the schoolboy drama, as the mind-blowing plot twists of his weekend soap operas had washed away his earlier awe over what shit he'd actually witnessed going down in real life. "So who can tell me what happened after George Washington popped the cherry?"

Eric raised his hand. "Mr. Garrison, George Washington _chopped down_ the cherry _tree_."

"Dammit, don't correct me! I know what I'm talking about- I was _there_! This is real, live history, Kyle!" (The real Kyle screamed in frustration.)

"Well, no, Mr. Garrison, um, that story's fictional to begin with." Cartman's voice was not only getting smoother with each word but was ascending in pitch. "And George Washington was known as an honorable man who'd never do something like that. He and his wife Martha didn't even have any children even after they were married."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Smarty-pants, I'm glad we all now know that the first President was a pussy."

"No, Mr. Garrison, George Washington was actually kind of cool," Token interjected.

"He wasn't really awesome at anything in particular, but he was admirable because he held the country together even though it was new." Eric thanked his lucky stars that he'd asked Mrs. Broflovski read those "Young Genius" history textbooks aloud to him and Ike the night before as a suck-up tactic. Kyle was just getting angrier by the second!

Token once again took the floor and Eric sent another 'thank you' skyward. He didn't know jack shit about George Washington besides what he'd just said. "Yeah, part of what made the first President so great is that he didn't want the position but took it with grace and honor and did the best he could with it anyway."

"A dumbass like that shouldn't have been the damned president if that's the way he was gonna be," mumbled Kyle.

Garrison was totally enraptured. "Eric, shut up, I'm trying to- I mean, the class is trying to learn something today." He snorted and quietly insulted the children under his breath.

"_I am not fucking Cartman!" _Kyle screamed. (Kenny, who had just now tuned back into the conversation and hadn't heard this in context, hoped to high heaven that Kyle was indeed _not _fucking Eric Cartman. That would make everything awkward.)

The real Eric Cartman (who was not being fucked) was biting his lips to keep from laughing. Kyle's face was almost as red as his hair and steam was practically billowing out his ears. Truly, Kyle's blood was boiling so hot that Eric would not have been surprised if all the sand in his favorite victim's vagina turned to glass.

"Dammit, stop yelling! Why do you have to yell every time an insult is thrown? Jeez, it's not like you haven't heard them all before, Eric."

Kyle decided right then and there to make Garrison's life as hellacious as possible.

"So I hear that middle-aged ex-trannies were voted the least attractive people on earth."

"Eric, are you trying to instigate a personal attack on me?"

Each time Mr. Garrison called him 'Eric', Kyle's pent-up anger fuel ignited a little more and his train of thought became a little more devious. "Oh, no, no, no, sir, I just wanted to know if it were true that nobody would do you even if their lives depended on it."

Garrison's face contorted a little. It was like that cold reading thing Stan had done when he pretended to be psychic; just one big, broad strike and he'd gotten something!

"I mean, I know Mr. Slave isn't particularly happy with you anymore- did he finally figure out why Mr. Hat couldn't even stand to be on your hand, much less even think of being on your—"

"ERIC!"

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry. I just, I mean, I wondered, would your parents even, y'know, have your way with you if you absolutely begged them? I mean, I just wondered- just wondered- are they so ashamed of you that they wouldn't even grant you that one little thing?

"I will have you know that my father-"

Kyle blasted right through his rickety defense. "I mean, if you'd ashamed them by being an utter failure when you were little, I mean, there's not much that kept you from growing up to be a complete loser, so their disappointment must have been nearly impossible to overcome."

Garrison began to tear up. Kyle Broflovski had totally pierced his heart like it was a piece of floppy bologna.

"So I guess there wasn't anything to really stop you from spiraling down into a complete loser with no friends, no life, no hope, no self-respect, no boyfriend, no job benefits, and no substantial chances of getting out of this dead-end town that's just as ideologically fucked up as you are." Kyle heard a little voice in his head telling him to finish the job. "Anyway, how does it feel to be a despicable abomination on the face of humanity?"

It was actually really pitiful to watch Garrison run out of the room in tears, screaming curses to Kathie Lee Gifford. And, secretly, Kyle realized that the verbal abuse to his teacher had made him feel loads better.

It was about five minutes later, betwixt the stupefied silence of the more intelligent little fourth graders and the oblivious chatter of the rest that Craig stated what was on everybody's mind.

"Does this mean we get to go home now?"

* * *

At lunch, the kids all sat down at their normal places, as usual. Kyle was happy- maybe this whole Cartman/Broflovski split thing would go away, or be just a joke, like another insult for him and Eric to toss around. He didn't notice that Stan took a little longer than usual to get to the table and the space left empty in his absence seemed to give Kyle an invisible layer of flesh, like he was bigger than his body allowed. The other boys noticed and were a little uneasy, but both Eric and Kyle were oblivious.

In the lunch line behind them, Stan had lagged behind and stood staring at their cafeteria cook like he expected something. The cafeteria guy smiled back and started to feel uncomfortable when the cute little boy's eyes continued to stay on his skinny form.

"Do you need anything, little boy?"

"Um," Stan paused and thought carefully about what he was going to say. "See, this is going to sound really stupid, but I need you to, um, say, "Hello there, children!" to me."

The lunch guy awkwardly did as he was asked. "Hello, there, children!"

Stan smiled despite himself. "Hey Chef!" The man stared. "Okay, now say, "How's it goin'?" please."

"How's it… goin'?"

"Bad."

"Uh, why?" The man was genuinely curious.

"No, um, you gotta ask it like this: "Why "bad"?"

"Why?"

"No, no, "Why "bad?"!"

No, I mean why do I gotta say it like-"

"Aw, c'mon, please, dude, just do it."

The lunch man scratched his neck. "Why "bad"?"

Stan closed his eyes and pretended a large, friendly black guy was there instead of a skinny and unsettling white dude. "Chef, what do you do when your best friend starts acting like a fat douche bag because your other friend, who you don't want to admit is your friend, is screwing his mind over and you can't approach your best friend to tell him so because he gets mad all the time like my mother did when my aunt used to visit and is also too busy acting like the fatass friend-who-isn't-quite-your-friend?"

"Kid, I don't know what to tell you. I mean, you could just try to tell the best friend straight up and fight through his anger or maybe meet with his parents, but I—"

This new lunch cook was certainly no world-class Chef. "You know what, mister? Never mind- I don't think this is gonna work for me after all."

"Aw, c'mon, kid, I want to help you! What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing." Stan put his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose and squeezed. "You helped-it's not you, it's just, this situation isn't quite… I dunno, _right_."

With an awkward wave of his ladle, the lunch cook waved at Stan's retreating form. "Did you want gravy on those mashed potatoes?"

Stan ignored him and weaved around the labyrinthine arrangement of kids and lunch tables before settling down next to Kyle.

"So is Mr. Garrison still crying in the teacher's lounge?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Clyde said. "Maybe we'll get to play tether ball for the rest of the day, so long as we don't tell anybody he's gone."

"Or football," added Kyle. The thought of playing football with Stan and Kenny all day sounded fantastic. He felt so much better that he might even want Eric to play as well, even if all he did was whine about how he never got to hold the ball. His self-absorbed grin turned smug.

"But don't you guys feel just a little bit bad about how upset Mr. Garrison was? I mean, he _ran crying into the teacher's lounge_. That was pretty intense, even for him."

"Well, I do feel kinda bad," agreed Butters.

Not even Stan kept his mouth shut. "Maybe you were a bit harsh, dude."

Kenny's sentiments mirrored Stan's and Eric cast a pleading look to Kyle, like he was expecting a change of heart from him.

What an asshole!

Why did Cartman have to try and ruin Kyle's good mood? Why couldn't he let him have this one little victory? Really, he'd let them out of Garrison's crummy lesson plans, bolstered his own confidence, and let them have recess virtually all day while looking like a total badass by telling off teacher. And it wasn't like everything Kyle'd said wasn't true.

"Oh, boo-hoo. So you wanna all go have a pity party for him?"

"Actually, it m-might be a good idea if we all w-went to s-s-see him." The characteristic stutter of Jimmy had stumbled on over to the dark side.

Seriously? Were they all going to abandon the glory Kyle'd won for them in class just because some bleeding heart decided to make a mess of everything? He was just gushing red hot pity all over the place! Disgusting! There was no way Kyle was going to let Eric get away with this- he would make him clean up his mess so thoroughly that he'd be eating his words up off the floor!

That is, he would if he could stop the other kids from lapping them all up first.

"Yeah, come on, you guys, let's go find Mr. Garrison." The other boys started to follow Stan's lead.

"Aw, hell no!" In a last-ditch effort, Kyle slammed his hands on the table- fingers splayed, palms down- and tried to reel them back in.

"Can't you see what this manipulative bastard has done to you? He's blindly leading you guys on!"

Clyde sniffed some snot back up his nose. "How?"

"Dammit, don't be dense, Clyde! He's obviously trying to make you guys hate me and steal my real identity so he can brainwash you into doing his bidding!" Eric painted his expression to mimic Kyle's classic 'I-am-affronted-you-dumb-fatass' look and stared the smaller boy down as he finished speaking.

"I mean, just _look_ at him! Those beady little eyes, that greedy stare, that ugly face- he's _evil_!" Kyle took a deep breath. "How can you not see it?"

"Oh, shut up, _Cartman_, get off your ass and go apologize."

"No, you bastard!"

"Hey, I'm not a bastard, dumbass!"

"Yeah you are!"

"No I'm not, fartface!"

"Mother fucker!"

"Fatass!"

"Hey, no, Cartman, you're the fatass!"

"Nu-uh! I only ate half my lunch and you ate yours and stole off Jimmy's plate!" (It had taken almost all of Eric's self control to refrain from finishing his meal.)

Kyle was stumped. "Well, your mom's a… a _bitch_!" Stan raised his eyebrows. He knew his buddy was in a corner, but at the heart of the matter, Kyle adored his mother. It was a very bad sign if calling her "bitch" was what he threw as an insult. Maybe this _was_ going a bit too far.

"She's your mom too, ass master!"

"Well at least my dad is cool enough to be twice as much of a gender as she is!"

Eric's hesitation on his next insult was very minimal, but had anybody been listening closely they'd have known just how much he didn't want to insult his man-mom. "Yeah, twice as much of a whore than she was before!"

Kyle was stumped. "Well, well, you're, uh… you're a _Jew_!"

Everybody got real quiet.

"Hey, don't insult my religion!"

"Well! If you can't take the heat, stay out of the _furnace_, Jew!"

"You asshole!" the real Eric hid a wicked smile.

"Jew bag! Jew! Jew! What, are you crying because you need to go suck on your bitch-mom's joobs? Jew!"

Even a complete idiot could see the fog that was clouding Kyle's head. All he could see was red and he went for it because he thought it was the red of Eric's coat, but Stan could clearly tell that it was really Kyle's own flesh and blood that he was ripping apart; his best friend's own heart was getting torn open by his wrath and sending up sprays of hurt, and that just made him flail more.

…Was this what Cartman did to himself when he assaulted others?

Kyle was still going. "C'mon, let's go fly a kike- we'll hang him on a cross like he did to his "king!"

This had gone farther than too far. Stan grabbed his rabid friend by the shoulder and, after some coaxing, resorted to shoving Kyle out of the cafeteria in the feeble hope that he'd get Kyle to cross back over the line he'd trampled.

"Careful, there's some glass to be broken in the streets tonight!" Kyle's screams were stifled by the slamming of the cafeteria door.

Interestingly, Eric's Broflovski impersonation was a bit dampened. Kyle's crazed Jew insults had caused a stir in his usually rock solid stomach (figuratively, of course- only Eric thought anything about that area was rock solid in any other way) and it unsettled him a little. What was this feeling?

Ah, it didn't matter.

"C'mon, you guys, let's go find Mr. Garrison," Eric heard himself say.

Butters came up to him as they embarked on their quest. "Golly, Kyle, Eric really got on you hard today, huh?"

"Nah, it's nothing new; his insults were stupid anyway. They didn't make any sense."

"Okay, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright."

What _was_ this feeling Eric felt stirring in his gut?

He exited the cafeteria and left his wonderings on the inside as the door shut.

* * *

Meanwhile, Stan had forcibly taken the phone from the nurse. She had failed to understand that it was imperative that the adorable elementary schooler make a phone call, so he persuaded her with a little of his kid-stuff cold-reading techniques that Kyle had so mercilessly utilized earlier.

She was now also crying in the teacher's lounge alongside Mr. Garrison, convinced that her husband was cheating on her with a giraffe-faced man from Timbuktu who was also a renowned puzzle enthusiast.

For a moment, Stan began to equate psychic abilities with Mad Libs, but then realized that while the first was complete bullshit, the other actually did have the uncanny ability to tell the future. It was like comparing oranges and apples, and he berated himself for ever belittling such an omnipotent tool as Mad Libs while he dialed numbers into the phone.

His grumpy grunting transformed back into a cherub's chatter as he heard the phone pick up on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mrs. Broflovski, this is Stan Marsh."

She was a little surprised. "Oh, hello, Stan. Aren't you supposed to be at school right now? Is something wrong?"

"Well, actually, yes. See, I'm in the nurse's office with Kyle, and, um, I think you need to come pick him up." Stan chanced a glance at his best friend. He was shaking with fury on the couch, muttering insults about Cartman, with slurs about Jews peppering his language every so often. "Yeah, you really need to come pick him up."

"Oh, my, does he miss Liane?"

Stan blinked. "What?"

"I mean, it must've been hard on him to be told that I'm his mother and then get sent off over here. I mean, he hasn't seen Liane all weekend."

Geez, adults were stupid. "No, no, Mrs. Broflovski, I'm talking about the _other_ Kyle."

From the couch, Kyle proclaimed his outrage. "There's no "other" Kyle! There's only one! _Me_! I'M KYLE!"

After that, Stan hushed his voice to a whisper.

"Look, just please forget about this entire "Cartman is Kyle" switch and come pick your son up, okay?"

"Well, they're still both my sons. If I don't call him by his real name, Eric will be so confused about who he really is."

"Oh, trust me; he already doesn't know who he is."

Kyle's outraged squawks erupted from his corner. "I KNOW WHO I AM! IT'S THAT DAMNED JEW WHO DOESN'T KNOW SHIT!"

How the hell could Kyle still hear him? "Look, I'll bring him out to you. Just please call him Kyle, okay?"


	9. DOUCHE EX MACHINA

_Part Eight: DOUCHE EX MACHINA_

Eric knocked on the door to the teacher's lounge.

"Go away!"

"Hey, Mr. Garrison?" Eric calmly called.

"I want you to go away!"

"Look, I know you're upset, just… just let us talk to you for a minute."

"No!" There was a thud on the other side of the door. Eric figured Garrison had just chucked what remained of his dignity, or at least his self-respect at the shoddy piece of wood between them. Of course, a more careful examination of this hypothesis disproved both notions; Mr. Garrison had neither dignity nor self-respect, so Eric finally decided that it was Principal Victoria's Tuna salad that had hit the door.

"Mr. Garrison, man, I know that his is hard for you, but you can't let what some demon-spawn child screams at you ruin your life."

"B-but it's all tuh-tuh-true-hue-hue! Uwaaaahhhhhh!" Garrison blew his nose and kept blubbering out incomprehensible stutters of self-pity.

"Oh, no, Mr. Garrison, don't be like that. It can't be that bad."

"Mah-mah luh-luh-li-hi-hi-fe ih-hi-his ah-ha f-f-f-fail-fail-uhr-hur-hur!" More sniffles were audible.

"Please, just open the door."

"Uhhhhhh!" Garrison let out a rollercoaster of pitches. "Buuhion' wa-haha-na-hahahaha-ha-ha!" he took a gasp for air as his sobs became faster and closer together. "Howwwwu-huhuh-'ooo-hooh-hooo-hoo fu-fuhu-fuh-feeheheeeheeeheelif'n uhhh, uhh, uhh li-hi-hil' bastneh-heh-heh-hern' ca-ha-ha-hame n' suh-suh-suh-sah-ha-ha-haid thuthi-hihih-hi-hings luh-luhhuhuhhuhuhuh-huhu-luh-huh-ike thaa-ahaahaha…? Waaaahhhhhh!"

Eric was very relieved when Jimmy Vulmer stepped (or crutched, as the case was) closer to the door and attempted to placate their bawling teacher. Eric wasn't fluent in dying baby sea elephant, after all, and he was getting pretty sick of hearing an entire damned musical composed of it.

"M-mister Garrison, we've all got shit to deal with. And it's hard. But the best way to d-d-deal with it is to r-rise above it."

"Wuhu-huhuhh-huh-huh-huh-huh!"

"You c-can do it, M-mister Garrison! Th-there's got to b-be something good about you!"

The door finally made some noises in return. Eric figured that hearing another person speaking Garrison's native language of intelligible stutter was what coaxed him to form almost coherent words. "Oooh wr-r-rea-rea-really thuh-thuh-think suh-suh-so?"

It was time for Eric's silver tongue to shine. "We know so, Mr. Garrison. And it's our job to cheer you up."

"Wuh-well…"

"Come on, Mister Garrison!" Eric pushed.

There was a short pause. "Huh. Huh huh."

Hell, had the drama queen started crying again? He should have just stayed a woman if he was going to continue to have these violent mood swings! Eric was about to start spitting fire in frustration when he realized that Garrison wasn't crying, but laughing. "On what?" The teacher asked.

"Mr. Garrison? Is everything okay?"

"On what? You said, 'Cum on'!" Garrison giggled some more, and Eric heard Kenny start to giggle as well. "Cum on what?"

This was totally inappropriate for a school setting, but it wasn't like everything out of Garrison's mouth had ever fallen under a different category. In fact, most of the kids didn't even understand the joke, but followed suit as their unnamed leader Eric started to snigger.

The door creaked open to reveal the contents of Principal Victoria's lunch splattered across its peeling paint. It oozed past the doorknob and onto the floor in a pale mess.

"On the door works, I guess," the teacher managed out. Eric smiled despite himself.

Garrison and his class just sat there in the doorway and laughed for the rest of lunch, whether they understood the joke or not. (The school nurse that had been so terribly upset by Stan even joined in.)

Still, Eric kept feeling some kind of something (guilt?) for making them think he was actually Kyle. Should he stop?

Nah.

* * *

Kyle and his mother stood staring at each other at the entrance of the school. Stan stood to one side-Kyle's- and wondered if this was the right move. Sheila was looking blankly at her son, who was giving her a look of such twisted emotions that, had Stan not known better, made the idea that Kyle Broflovski was actually Eric Cartman quite plausible.

Stan really hoped that nothing bad would happen.

"Aw, bubbie, maybe this was a bit much for you to handle at one time, huh?" Sheila started.

"It's a bit thick, even for him!"

Sheila frowned. "Eric, is there something wrong with your voice?" She hadn't yet witnessed the amazing voice-alteration quality that the name "Cartman" bestowed upon you, and little Kyle had a raging case of it.

"Yeah, I'll tell you what's wrong with it! It has to suffer through your damned ears! My name isn't Eric, you—"

Stan stepped in, slightly exasperated that Sheila had stupidly ignored his warning to not call Kyle Eric. "Look, Mrs. Broflovski, Kyle here is having a whole lot of trouble, and I think he just needs to go home with you and have you all forget that Cartman ever decided to get that test done, okay?"

"But Stan, denying the truth just makes living with yourself even harder! I know it's hard, but over time it'll get easier. So behave yourself, Eric!"

Kyle screamed and Stan held him down as he tried to launch himself at his mother. Unfortunately, he failed and instead they both ended up hurling themselves at Sheila. Kyle was frothing.

There was much screaming of insults (a lot of them directed at Stan, surprisingly) until Sheila managed to get out of the brawl with her beehive hairstyle a little off-kilter.

"That's it!" Sheila screamed. "I'm calling your parents! Both of you!"

Secretly, Stan felt relieved that he was going to see both principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey. Then he'd feel like, by comparison, he were a little less insane.

* * *

Eric had managed to convince Garrison to let them spend the rest of the day on the playground (not that it had been that hard, considering the teacher's lounge fiasco) and he was currently playing a rousing game of flag football with Kenny, Butters, and Token. It was actually quite nice, once he got over the fact that he'd have to put forth some physical effort to play (oh, the horror!) and he actually found that he wasn't that bad.

Of course, Kyle and Stan had to come up and ruin everything.

Cartman saw him before he got close enough to spit some more insults at him, and he stopped the game of flag football just to watch the little daywalker's puke-green hat skulk towards him.

Butters ran up to Kyle. "Hey, Eric! Mr. Garrison is lettin' us play on the playground all day since we all apologized. Maybe you ought to go apologize, too! You shoulda seen how funny it was!"

Something about Kyle's aura was unsettling. "Is my name Eric?"

Butters began to nod happily, but was cut off. "No, _bitch_, I'm not." Kyle inhaled. "And is it my job to know what the real Eric Cartman does all the time?"

"Wull, uh, I don't know…" he muttered. Kyle grabbed Butters by the collar and annunciated. "AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?"

He tossed Butters into the crowd and Stan approached his friend. "Dude, maybe we ought to wait in Mackey's office for our parents to get here…"

"Shut up, Stan! I don't want to wait for my dad and _his _dad to get here!" Kyle turned once again to his nemesis, Eric.

Ohhh, a Battle Royale! Kenny wondered if he should place bets…

…but the unsteady look on Eric's face as insults were thrown at him made Kenny think of his latest visit with Jesus, and all that love and kindness and mercy crap he got fed for lunch and breakfast every Sunday.

Why couldn't the Divine Counselor be as ineffective as Mackey (who was obviously dumb enough to let the two current problem children duke it out on the playground while they waited for their parents instead of separating them like any normal person would?)

Man, all bets were off just because Stan was upset, just because Kyle was acting like a fatass, and just because Eric was in denial about feeling guilty for taking on the responsibilities of being Kyle.

DAMN IT! Why did Kenny have to wuss out on this great money-making opportunity?

So, Kenny stood up on the playground wall and threw off his hood in a display of authority.

The kids stared.

"Look, you idiots! Does anybody really care that either one of them is related?"

Kyle was all too vocal. "I do!"

"Okay, maybe I've approached this wrong. But anyway, does it really make a difference what their names are? I mean, it doesn't make the fatass any less fat, or Kyle any less redheaded."

Kenny noticed the parents and Mackey slowly coming out of the school to see the commotion (NOW they decided to act!) so he spoke a little louder. "Some new family ties have been made, but that doesn't make a difference to the ones that are already there!" He pointed a finger at Sheila, Gerald, and Liane, who looked like a trio of deer-in-the-headlights. "You should still love the kid you raised, because not only have you totally screwed them up by doing otherwise, but family ties aren't necessarily defined by blood anymore! It's who you care about and want to call your family… it's about who supports you!"

Tiny Ike, who had snuck out of class to come see, grabbed Kyle's hand and began to cheer.

Stan followed after and slowly but surely the adults began to clap and express support for Kenny's speech.

"Oh, Kyle, he's right! We're sorry we alienated you," Gerald said. The real Kyle Broflovski, the one in the goofy green hat, was overjoyed and gave his parents a big hug.

"Eric, I'm glad to have you as my son," Liane said to her real Eric Cartman, who was equally relieved (but didn't want to admit it.)

Kenny basked in his glorious happy ending until a giant pterodactyl swooped down and ate the little blonde in one bite, leaving the playground gang dumbfounded.

Clyde broke the ice. "Let's play tetherball!"

And they all did.

* * *

From his laboratory on the hill, Mephisto grinned down at Kevin.

"I guess they'll never know that I faked those test results just to get the damned kid to leave me alone."

THE END.


	10. Special Surprise Deleted Scene

**_WARNING:_****__**** Cartman and Mr. Garrison are racist because they're in-character. None of this is meant to reflect my views. Also, since this big, bold, pretty warning is here, I'll use this space to say that I don't own South Park.**

* * *

_Part Ten: Special Surprise Deleted Scene in Return for Your Patience and Support_

Stan couldn't stomach his lunch.

He hadn't really enjoyed it since that new white guy came onto the staff, but he'd never found the slop spread before him _completely _unpalatable (never mind when he'd first been forced to eat the stuff- he hadn't really tried to down it as a tribute to his fallen friend, so that time didn't count.) Today, though, Stan was just so distraught that the puddles of goo on his plate looked more even more like vomit than usual- and it was the really gnarly kind (not 'gnarly' as in "_Gnarly_, dude!", but 'gnarly' as in nasty, and not "_Sick_ nasty, dude!") that no idiot (sans Kenny, and Kenny wasn't actually an idiot, he just acted like one) would dare try to send down his gullet. And that was no exaggeration- Stan knew his vomit.

Some kids know their shit, but Stan knew his vomit. It's kind of the same thing, except not really- Stan knew his shit about vomit, not shit. Actually, thanks to his father's world-renowned poop-de-gras of Bono, Stan knew his shit about shit as well. But that's not really the point- the point is that Stan was so repulsed by his lunch that he was tempted to go back there and spit up his own chef's special just so that South Park Elementary School would have something of at least a little better quality to serve the students.

He poked around at the mess on his tray a little to try to amuse himself, but it was so disgusting that even his boyish penchant for gross things couldn't take it.

Fortunately, Eric Cartman could engorge himself with what Stan couldn't. He looked over at the plate longingly. "Are you going to eat that?" he asked, like he hadn't just spent a week-and-a-half acting like Kyle Broflovski and realizing that his own lunch was enough.

Boy, he sure bounced back fast from existential crises. Maybe it was because of all that fat padding. Stan wondered how long it would take Kyle to recover.

Stan learned pretty quickly that although Eric's girth may have factored into it, those extra pounds weren't the key to the cure- Kyle proved that he had ricocheted back to normal just as fast and he was much, much smaller.

"No, but I can tell you are, fat boy!" He shot at Eric.

"Shaddup, Jew! I'm not fat!"

Kyle just laughed and continued their spiteful banter.

It was nice to have things back to normal, but Stan missed the other normal, the _old_ normal- the one with a big, black Chef serving them some serious soul food and getting all pissed when the boys asked foolishly inappropriate questions.

Y'know, whoever came up with 'soul food' must've been onto something (versus just _on_ something.) Chef really did nourish more than just their bodies. If Stan had been older, he'd have been able to more eloquently express how he felt- "Chef nourished my soul" was accurate, but it wasn't complete. To leave it at that would be inconsistent with the strength of Stan's emotions, and that inconsistency was the consistency of whatever the hell this consistently inconsistent puke-lunch consistently consisted of. It just wasn't acceptable.

Stan denied Eric and gave Kenny his lunch instead before they all went back to the classroom.

* * *

The lesson had been lectured and Mr. Garrison was getting fed up with his class, as usual. The fact that he had resorted to reviewing them over it proved it. "Okay, kids, can anyone tell me what Rosa Parks said when all the white people told her to go sit in the back of the bus?"

Beneath Butters's stupid smile, his brain was buzzing in wonder. "I can hear crickets chirping in here!"

"No, there were no crickets on that bus, dumbass." Garrison looked for another victim. "Anyone else?" he spotted the Marsh boy's blue hat. "Stanley, can you get over the fact that Amy Winehouse is dead and tell me what the hell Rosa Parks said when they told her to get her ass to the back of the bus?"

"Uh," little Stan snapped to attention. "Bus? What bus?" He was so lost- he was thinking about Chef.

"Rosa Parks, Stanley."

"Rosa parks the bus?"

"No, Stanley, she doesn't park the bus. She parked her ass _on_ the bus in the wrong damn place and then all the better people told her to _move_ and park it in the _back_ of the bus."

"Oh," he said. "Why were they better?"

Garrison really, really couldn't afford to be punished for racial slurs yet again, so he suppressed his white supremacist ideas (which was surprisingly easy for him- he was good at swallowing white crap no matter how thick it was) in favor of screaming at the poor child.

"WHY the HELL does it matter? Just answer the damn question- what did Rosa Parks say when she was told to sit in the back of the bus?"

Stan squirmed in his seat. "Um," he had no idea. "Uh…"

Kyle tried to whisper something to his best friend, but the teacher snapped his fingers and pointed at him and the redhead backed off.

"Uhh," Stan struggled.

"Well?" pressed Garrison.

"Uhhhhhhh…"

"Spit it out, Stanley!"

With red ears and a burst of energy, Stan leapt up onto his desk and half-sang, half-screamed his answer.

"I'M GONNA MAKE LOVE TO YA, WOMAN!" He kept going, completely ignorant of his stunned classmates. Wendy thought it was hot or something, but Bebe did not.

Pretty soon, Kyle got a leg up on his desk and joined in. "I'M GONNA LAY YOU DOWN BY THE FI-YAH!"

Kenny was, of course, the one to sing about caressing her womanly bod-ay. Eric came in afterwards and drowned everybody else out, but the boys kept singing with their large classmate's equally large voice.

To the rest of the class (and Garrison), they looked like they'd lost their minds.

When they were stuck in detention after school that day, Stan took the time to apologize. "I just really missed Chef," he explained.

"Yeah, he was my favorite from the plantation, too."

That was Eric, of course, and Kyle was right there to rip into him. "Chef wasn't a slave, you asshole!"

"That's what all you slaves say, Jew."

"I'm not a slave, either!"

"Whatever! Who the hell built my pyramid, then, huh?"

"Cartman, that was hundreds of years ago in Egypt and you know it! I never built you any damn pyramids and neither of one of us is from the middle east!"

"Says the terrorist," Eric muttered.

"Gah, Cartman, I am not a slave, I am not a terrorist, and Chef is and was not either of those things either, fatass."

"HEY! I am NOT FAT! But Chef was!"

"Yeah? So? He was kind and he loved us and… and I miss him," Stan ended the fight with his assertion and wistfully looked out the window. Kyle and Eric followed suit.

Kenny also missed Chef and turned his head to look out the window too, but he paused for a moment when he saw the look on the others' faces. They were all still so pained by Chef's demise that even now, over a year after it had happened, they were still thinking of him.

They remembered him.

Kenny's eyes never made it to the window- he just looked on in envy as his friends sent goodwill skyward.

* * *

It's really short, but here is your prize for reading my edited-and-hopefully-better story! the gag of Stan singing on a desk was something I wanted in the actual story itself, but there was no smooth transition point for it so I nixed it. What you are reading now was changed so it would be like an epilogue or something, but it originally wasn't meant to be.

I'm kind of writing Durarara! fic and Zelda fic at the moment, buuuut if I ever write more South Park, the last line should give a pretty obvious hint about what (and who) it will be about.

Thank you for reading and don't forget to review! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
